


Told Me Lies, Told Me Tales

by VeronicaFerCard



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Past Drug Use, Spies & Secret Agents, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, Unsafe Sex, in the past though, london spy AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-13 06:38:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 38,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15358458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeronicaFerCard/pseuds/VeronicaFerCard
Summary: First, Bucky meets Joe. Then he falls in love with Grant. But in the end, Steve is the one who is going to need him the most.This is it, the London Spy AU literally nobody asked for.





	1. JOE

**Author's Note:**

> This story was based heavily on the first episode of London Spy, a British show with Ben Whishaw which I think nobody actually saw.  
> Also, I obviously took some liberties, especially with the ending. I definitely do not intend to go down the same road.  
> Title from Coeur de pirate's Ocean Brawl.

At the early signs of dawn, Bucky leaves the stuffy, poorly lit nightclub. Despite the hours, music still blasts behind him, and there is still a good number of people who are not ready for the party to end just yet, which is not his case though. Bucky is done for the day.

As he makes his way home, he walks by the nondescript, glass and chrome building. It’s supposed to look like any other nameless corporation people _know_ does something, but nobody can tell what. However, Bucky’s best friend, Dugan, has been working there since the dawn of time, so Bucky knows better. He knows that, in reality, it is the headquarters of SHIELD, America’s very own intelligence cell. Dum Dum has said once, that it was supposed to be in DC, but Howard Stark had put his foot down, and his money dictated the final word, and so the monstrosity of a building was set there, right in the middle of New York.

Bucky rummages through his pockets in search of his ancient cell phone. The fingers of his good hand -- the cold making the other one hang uselessly by his side -- stumble onto a broken cigarette inside his front pocket. He pulls it out and holds it between his lips. Now he searches for his phone _and_ a lighter. Does he even have a lighter? He certainly didn’t have any cigarettes when he entered the club last night.

He finds his phone at long last. There are more people in the street now, early risers, runners. Bucky gets distracted by a particular subject in the latter category. The guy nods and says something to every jogger he outruns, probably alerting them of his presence, judging by the fact that they all take a step sideways as he sprints by. His pecs bounce with each step, even though his T-shirt is working hard to keep everything locked in place. _Jesus_. How did he even got in there?  

Bucky’s brain starts cataloging several things, like the mop of soft blond hair, which is darker at some points, matting to the guy’s face with sweat. He notices the broad shoulders, the trim waist, the blue eyes… which are staring right back at Bucky. And that’s when he realizes, the reason why he can see so many details, it’s because the runner is coming towards him.

In his panic, Bucky drops both his phone and the unlit cigarette. One of them crashes hard on the ground, and Bucky momentarily forgets the jogger in order to inspect the damage. When he looks down, the scene is just as he feared, no survivors. The wind blew the cigarette to the rest of the damp junk by the curb; the cell phone screen is shattered into several webs across the front, the battery lay slightly away from the casing, which is, funnily enough, intact.

Bucky kneels down to at least pick his trash off the street. He picks up the casing and the phone,  and he is just about to reach for the battery when a hand offers it to him. But instead of simply grabbing it, Bucky’s eyes slowly make their way up the hand, through the strong arm, until he finds himself again, face to face, with the Handsome Runner.

Honestly, Bucky is still a good few hours away from sober, so nobody can blame him for staring a bit too long at guy’s eyes baby blue eyes. It’s like they are practically pulling at Bucky, magnetically, like the moon does to the ocean. Yeah, Bucky’s still pretty drunk. The guy can probably tell, by Bucky’s bloodshot eyes, though he doesn’t seem to be passing any judgment behind his kind blues. _Jesus, Barnes, get a grip!_

After a few more seconds of Bucky doing nothing, the Handsome Runner cleans his throat -- he blushes a little, though it could be from the run -- and extends his hand further towards him. Bucky finally gets with the program and takes the battery from him, muttering a soft thanks under his breath.

They slowly stand up, at the same time, almost like two animals assessing each other, only Bucky is less graceful, and the movement makes his head spin a little. The Handsome Runner shoots him a concerned look.

“You alright?” He doesn’t wait for Bucky to answer. Instead, he unhooks his water bottle from a strap in his shoulder and hands it to Bucky. “Here.”

This time Bucky is quicker. He  puts the broken parts of the phone in his pocket and grabs the bottle, not sparing a single thought to germs or anything like that -- he’s had much worse in his mouth -- and drinks the whole thing in a couple of seconds, the water coming down so good, Bucky barely refrains from making any embarrassing sounds. And once he is done, for the first time, Bucky takes notice of the bottle. It’s fancy looking, probably designed to maintain temperature, it looks like it could easily cost more than his phone. He hastily offers it back to the guy, half afraid he might drop it.

Bucky is suddenly acutely aware of how much he looks like he’s just crawled out of a dumpster. His hair is too long and unwashed. He hasn’t shaved this week and he smells like smoke and booze. Nevermind his left arm, which doesn’t really bend, and sets unnaturally straight and still at his side. This guy is definitely thinking Bucky is a bum, and he probably doesn’t want to touch the bottle ever again.

And sure enough, the Handsome Runner simply offers Bucky a grin and says, “You keep it,” before giving him a mock salute and setting off on his run again.

\---

The water bottle sits on Bucky’s nightstand, strategically placed behind the lamp. He has expressly forbidden both Clint and Kate from touching it, but it doesn’t hurt to make it a little more inconspicuous.

Bucky has never been one to care about what people thought of him, he would probably be dead if he did, but for some reason, he can’t shake the Handsome Runner off. For some mysterious reason, Bucky doesn’t want the guy thinking the worst of him. And he certainly doesn’t want a stranger to give him expensive gifts like he is a charity case. Although, if that dude had _something else_ to give him, Bucky wouldn’t exactly say no to him.

He spends most of the week staring at the bottle until he finally makes a decision. He is going to return it. Of course, he has no idea how to find this guy, so, hoping that running is part of the Handsome Runner’s routine, Bucky waits the week out. When the day comes, he wakes up extra early, takes a shower, shaves, fishes out the cleanest outfit he can find in the war zone that is his bedroom and grabs the bottle from the nightstand.

Kate is not even home yet, and Clint is passed out on the couch when Bucky leaves the apartment.

By the time he is walking past SHIELD, it’s roughly the same time he met the jogger last week. At first, he thinks he is up for disappointment, it’s colder than it was that day, and there aren’t many people out today. But his mama raised no quitter, so Bucky parks himself on a bench and waits.

About five minutes later, he is rewarded.

Same tight t-shirt stretching over his muscles, same shorts -- because the guy is apparently immune to the cold -- same shoes. No water bottle, though.  

Psyching himself, Bucky stands up, putting his left hand on the pocket of his jeans jacket, he holds the bottle on the right and bounces on the balls of his feet as he waits for the guy to approach. The Handsome Runner spots him right away, and Bucky’s heart beats a little faster as the guy gets closer.  

He comes to a graceful stop about a foot away from Bucky.

“Hey,” Bucky says. “I --” He has no idea what to say! God, he had an entire week to plan this and now he doesn’t know what to fucking say. _Way to go, Barnes._ And the guy is either enjoying Bucky’s misery, or he doesn’t know what to make of this situation, because he remains silent, waiting for Bucky. So he clears his throat and tries again. “I wanted to give you back your bottle.”

The Handsome Runner shakes his head. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” Bucky says, “but --” Oh, _what the hell_ , he is here, he is queer, might as well go for it. He changes his posture to something a little more confident, and says with a shrug, “Otherwise, how do you know…” The guy’s mouth falls open, surprised, like -- like something like this would never cross his mind. Bucky’s insides go ice cold. “Obviously,” he says, setting the bottle down on the bench, between the two of them, “I got this all wrong. So, uh --” The guy still says nothing. “Yeah, I’m gonna --”

And with that, Bucky high tails out of the situation before he can further humiliate himself.

He caves in only once and turns around to find the guy holding the water bottle and staring at him. But he doesn’t move, he doesn’t say anything, and Bucky is too far to read his expression anyway, so he simply swivels around and goes back to his life, leaving the Handsome Runner and the SHIELD building behind.

Or so Bucky thinks, but the next thing he knows, someone is rushing towards him from behind, and as he moves to give them space to pass, the person slows down to a jog.

“I -- I don’t know what to say,” Handsome Runner pants beside him. “This, this never happened to me before."

Bucky gives him a once over. “Oh, come on!” He finds that hard to believe. But the guy simply chuckles a little, blushing. By this point, he has, thankfully, slowed to a walk. That's when Bucky realizes it. “You’re not out.”

It’s not a question, and this guy is smart enough not to treat it as one. “I understand if you’d rather leave now.” He actually stops as he says it. Bucky holds in a sigh.

“Okay,” Bucky says as they come to a stop. “Let’s rewind and start from the basics. He smiles. “I’m Bucky.”

The Handsome Runner hesitates for a second, averting his gaze, but quickly coming back to Bucky’s face. If Bucky hadn’t been so good at reading people, he would have missed it. _Jesus_ , is everything like pulling teeth with this guy?

A couple more heartbeats later, he finally returns Bucky’s smile with one of his own. “My name’s Joe.”

\---

They end up at Joe’s house -- the guy lives in an actual house -- which is not very far from where they met. How he can afford that Bucky has yet to know, but the house smells like old money, even though the appliances are all brand new. The whole place looks like a showroom, not a single trace of personal touch, as far as Bucky can see.

Joe leads them to his bedroom, at the end of a long hall. Bucky’s eyes travel around, taking everything in. The bedroom, at least, seems a little more homey, with the soft dark blue covers on the bed and the small portrait on the nightstand, though it’s turned in such a way that the picture in it is only visible if you are lying on that side of the bed.

Joe is not much of a talker, but there is something about him that makes Bucky feel comfortable enough he doesn’t need to fill in the silence with bullshit. Joe turns around to grab something from the dresser by the wall, and Bucky is seconds away from shrugging out of his jacket when Joe swivels back, with a  towel in his hands. Bucky thanks his lucky star he didn’t embarrass himself again.

“I’ll be right back,” Joe announces before disappearing through the door and down the corridor, leaving Bucky pretty much to his own devices.

He twiddles his fingers for a moment, not really sure what he is supposed to do. They didn’t even talk much in the way over, Bucky more or less just following Joe, occasionally bumping shoulders, just to watch Joe blush along the shy lift of the corners of his mouth. Joe is way too cute for a man of his size, Bucky can’t be blamed for acting on it. But now that he is alone in this rich guy’s bedroom, he is starting to feel a little self-conscious.

Bucky is quick to stamp it out, though, and starts wandering on his own as he waits for Joe. Curiosity gets the best of him and he picks up the portrait from the nightstand. If it weren’t for the fact that the picture is obviously old, Bucky might have thought this was Joe’s wife and son, as it happens, he is more convinced that the blond woman holding the baby in what seems to be a hospital bed is Joe’s mother holding him.

Joe looks a lot like her, Bucky notices, even though she is a tiny woman, she seems to carry the same strength in her narrow shoulders, and the same kindness behind the similar clear blue eyes. She is definitely someone Bucky would like to know. He carefully sets the picture back on its place and leaves the bedroom to inspect the rest of the house.

By the time Bucky is almost finished with his little solo tour of Joe’s house, he is startled by the sudden absence of sound coming from the bathroom, and ends up knocking the elbow of his left hand -- still in his pocket -- onto the very expensive looking laptop on the counter separating the kitchen from the dining and living room. Thankfully, he only dislodges the thing, instead of bringing it down to the floor. He goes to fix it and accidentally presses something, which lights up the screen. And Bucky really doesn’t mean to snoop, nevertheless, he catches a glimpse of a page filled with some sort of coding, but that's all he gets before high tailing back to the bedroom, pretending he hasn’t moved at all when Joe comes back to the room.

Joe has a towel over his shoulders, and another one around his waist, but is otherwise completely naked. Bucky watches the drops of water run from his wet hair down his neck. Joe is mesmerizing. Bucky realizes he has to make a decision, then. Either he goes for the quick fuck and never sees this guy again, or he can play the long game and see where this leads. And there is something about Joe that doesn’t add up, like he is made of a bunch of parts from different puzzles, making it hard for Bucky to sort it out which parts are really him so that Bucky can see the full picture. In the end, that’s what does it for him.

“I’ll let you get changed,” Bucky says, bypassing Joe and softly closing the bedroom door behind himself.

\---

Joe takes them to a coffee shop a couple of streets down from his place. It’s a small, cozy place that looks like it’s been around for some time, although Bucky, who’s been living in this city for years, has never heard of it before today.

Bucky’s eyes bulge a little when he looks at the menu. He is mentally calculating how much he has in his wallet when Joe clears his throat. “I can -- I can pay.” It sounds almost like a question. He looks uncomfortable like he isn’t sure if the gesture will be appreciated or not.

Bucky puts him at ease with a soft smile. “It’s fine. All I want is a cup of coffee.” He waves dismissive hand to the menu. “I’m not that into the other hipster shit.” He waits until they get to a corner table with their drinks in hand to try and start a conversation. “So, what do you do?”

“I work for a bank,” Joe says, and that explains the suit and tie he’s wearing, “been there for some years now.” He doesn’t seem all that chipper about it, but Joe simple shrugs when Bucky points that out. “Well,” he drawls, waiting for the sound to die before changing the focus of the conversation to Bucky. “What about you?”

“Rent money, plus --" he hesitates a little before adding, "disability pension,” Bucky says, nodding at his left arm. But he doesn’t feel like ruining the date so he leaves it at that. Joe is visibly curious, but thankfully, he doesn’t press for more information. That’s perhaps why Bucky decides to throw him a bone. “I’ve lost about thirty percent of mobility,” he says, “‘sides that it still works alright,” Bucky quickly adds, just in case it’s some kind of deal breaker, though he wouldn’t want anything to do with Joe if it were.

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” Joe says. “Anyone makes you feel bad about it, they’re not worth your time.”

“Whoa, am I _that_ easy to read?” Bucky asks, resting his elbow on the table and his head on his hand.

Joe nods. “I like it,” he says, “It’s a nice change from the people a work with.” He shakes his head. “They’re inscrutable.”

Bucky narrows his eyes then, like some kind of cagy character in a bad movie. “I can be inscrutable.”

Joe looks at him through his long lashes -- his gaze so intense Bucky is the one blushing this time -- and at that moment, Joe shows more of himself than he has done so far. “I like that you’re not.” His voice is low enough to make it feel like a confession. Bucky’s stomach flutters.

Oh _fuck_.

\--

At the end of the date, Bucky leans forward, deciding a kiss is probably not going to ruin the nice time they just had, but Joe visibly panics. He is blushing hard as he steps back and hasty sticks a hand out, for Bucky, to shake. Joe wants to end the date with a handshake. He is so fucking adorable, Bucky wants to kiss him even more now. But he resists the urge and, instead, brings his own hand up, closing his fingers around Joe’s soft wrist.

Bucky gives him Kate’s number before they part ways. He is a bit put off by the fact that Joe makes no effort to write it down. Joe, the punk, snorts at Bucky’s frown.

“Numbers, Buck,” he says, “I work with numbers.” Bucky’s mind goes to the lines of complex coding on the laptop. He wonders what it is exactly that Joe does for the bank because he is definitely not a simple teller.  “I think I can remember a phone number.” He smirks, and yep, Bucky can see it now, behind all that awkwardness there’s an asshole, alright.

Bucky can’t wait to meet him.

\---

Once a week Bucky has lunch with Dum Dum at the park. They used to see each other more often, back when Bucky wasn’t doing that well, but once he got back on his feet Bucky dialed it down a bit, wanting to give Dum Dum a break from babysitting him all the time. Bucky doesn’t really know how old Dugan is exactly, but he’s certainly too old for Bucky to put that kind of strain on his back. Now he tries to include Dum Dum mostly on the upsides of his life.

Bucky lets out a dreamy sigh as he sits down next to Dum Dum on their bench. Dum Dum passes him a sandwich.

“Spit it out, kid,” Dugan says while Bucky works on unwrapping his lunch.

“He’s big as a house,” Bucky informs. He finally wins the battle against all the wrapping and bites down on his sandwich with gusto. Dum Dum knows exactly what Bucky likes, and he never fails to give it to him. “Seriously,” he goes on, despite his mouthful. Dum Dum scrunches his nose in disgust and averts his eyes to his own sandwich.

“So you’ve said it,” Dum Dum points out. “Repeatedly. For the past two weeks.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t you remember feeling like this? Like you can’t even think about anything else?” Joe has been pretty much a constant in Bucky’s mind since their date, which was also the last time they saw each other, but Bucky is trying to be positive here, so he doesn’t linger on that.

Dum Dum chuckles. “I do. Believe it or not, I’ve been your age.” He suddenly gets a far off, sad look on his face, clearly lost somewhere in his memories.

“What happened to him?” Bucky asks softly.  

Dugan shakes his head. “I had to keep so many secrets back then,” he says, looking at the sandwich he has definitely already given up on, “couldn’t afford one more.”

“I’m sorry, Dum Dum.” Dugan has been out for such a long time, Bucky sometimes forgets how shitty things must have been for him when he was around Bucky’s age. Even nowadays, Dum Dum still acts and talks like a very straight guy. The thick mustache, which somehow still preserves some of its orange coloring, and the bowler hats are the only things that really set him a little apart from heterosexuality, though Bucky sometimes suspects it’s merely a fashion choice that stuck with him throughout the years. Either way, Bucky feels bad for putting a damper on their time together.

“Don’t sweat over it, kid.” He sets his sandwich aside and wipes his hands on a paper napkin. “Let’s go back to you. I assume this fella still hasn’t called you.” Dum Dum eyes Bucky with unhidden concern. “Bucky --”

“No,” Bucky interrupts the _be careful with your heart_ speech. “He’s gonna call.” Bucky is sure of it, for some reason he knows it, he knows it in his fucking _bones_.

\--

Another miserable week goes by without a single word from Joe.

Bucky mopes around the apartment for most of the time, until Clint or Kate gets tired of his pity party and demand he gets out and gets some. And although Bucky does go out on a few occasions, the only thing he gets is slightly tipsy on cheap beer. He hasn’t given up on Joe just yet. If the guy needs some time to sort himself out, so be it.

Bucky often thinks of Dum Dum when Joe comes to his mind, they both work on serious businesses, which makes it difficult for them to just be who they are. Joe’s job probably doesn’t even allow tattoos. Bucky grew up in an army base during don’t ask don’t tell, he understands where Joe’s insecurities are coming from.

If that’s even the case, a nasty part of Bucky’s brain supplies every now and then. _Maybe he was just not that into you_ , the little devil on his shoulder says. And sometimes, like today, there’s no little angel on the other side of him to argue the contrary.

Bucky doesn’t always have the energy to stay positive all the time.

A knock on the door interrupts the movie Bucky is definitely not watching, but he pauses it anyway, out of respect for cast and crew, before going to check who it is. He is almost sure it’s Clint, who conveniently forgot his keys so that he could come back here and retrieve both the keys _and_ Bucky from the confinements of their apartment, regardless of the fact it’s nearly dawn. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

So Bucky takes his time getting to the door and unlocking it. But when he pushes it open, it’s not Clint waiting for him on the other side.

“Otherwise,” says Joe, saluting him with a coffee, “how do you know?”

\---

Joe is driving them somewhere just out of the city. Like everything else about him, his car is some brand new, expensive German model, which fits perfectly with the house and the suits, but it’s another one of the odd puzzle pieces in Joe’s life. But Bucky is in a good mood, the day is beautiful and Joe, though he is still way too quiet, is a very pleasant company, so Bucky sets those kinds of thoughts -- the ones that make him mistrust people without even getting to know them -- aside and enjoys the ride.

“So,” Bucky breaks the silence after another mile or so of it, “at what point do you start talking about yourself?”

Joe shoots him a puzzled glance. “What do you mean?” His hands momentarily tighten around the wheel, betraying his discomfort.

Bucky acts quickly to defuse any awkwardness

“I mean, this is what people do on dates, right? They share information about themselves.”

“But -- they might not be telling the truth, Buck,” Joe argues. “What’s the point in sharing then?”

“You don’t go out with somebody expecting to be lied to.” Joe opens his mouth, and Bucky knows exactly what comes next. “I don’t know _how_ you know it,” he says with a smirk. Joe rolls his eyes. “But we can’t just spend our entire lives looking over our shoulders.” He shakes his head, looking out the window, at the blur of the trees. “That’d be exhausting.”

\---

They get off the car a few minutes later. Joe opens the trunk to get whatever it is he needs for the hiking. _Hiking_. In this weather. Bucky cannot fucking believe he agreed to this.

Joe fishes a pair of tennis shoes from behind a backpack. “You’re gonna need something a little more comfortable,” he says, pointedly eying Bucky’s battered boots.

Bucky snorts. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?” He shakes his head, more amused than mad. “This is the second time you try to give me some of your expensive shit. What? You tryna buy me or something?” He says it without malice, but Joe’s eyes still bulge like Bucky has just insulted his entire female lineage.

“I-- I didn’t mean to, I swear,” Joe stammers, retrieving his extended hand,  “It wasn’t my intention to offend you, I’m sorry.”

As much as part of Bucky enjoys watching the guy squirm a little for his troubles, he can’t help taking pity on him. “Hey, relax. I’m not angry,” he assures. “I’ll borrow them.” Joe hesitates a little. “Please?” Bucky stretches his hand out and smiles, looking at Joe through his lashes.

Joe hands him the sneakers.

He grabs the backpack from the trunk and closes it. Joe fishes a map -- an actual map, made of paper -- and opens it on the hood of the car. “This is us,” he points out, and starts to slowly trace the route, “we’re gonna follow this path--” He stops when he notices Bucky is looking at him, not the map.

“You do this often?” As soon as he says it, Bucky can hear how that must have come out, accusatory, like he is pointing out some weird habit. And just to confirm his suspicions, Joe averts his gaze, “It’s a lot of miles,” Bucky says with a grin.

Joe scratches the back of his neck, self-conscious, and offers Bucky a timid smile.

“Well,” Bucky drawls, giving him a once-over, “it’s certainly working for you.”

And that does it. Joe snorts and rolls his eyes, the tension easing off his shoulders. “Jerk,” he mutters under his breath. “Come on,” he says, folding the map and putting it back in the backpack, “let’s get going.”

\--

Contrary to what he had thought, Bucky is not completely spent when they finally get back to the car, a couple of hours later. He actually feels energized in a way he hasn’t in quite some time, sure his legs hurt a little, not used to this kind of strain, and the shoulder on his bad side is a bit sore, but overall Bucky is alive in a way he hasn’t in a very long time. He wonders if it’s -- amongst other things -- due to the fact that Joe actually talked quite a bit as they walked, even if it was mostly to share random stuff about plants, rocks and the occasional wildlife they encountered on their way. It was nice, though. Joe is quite the nerd. It’s endearing.  

They get back in the car and Joe takes something from the backseat. He turns around to reveal a couple of sandwiches, but before handing one to Bucky, he puts both of them on his lap to grab some honest to god hand sanitizer from the glove compartment. He squeezes a little of it on his hand and then passes it to Bucky, who must be making some kind of face because Joe lifts an inquisitive eyebrow at him.

“You’re… such an adult,” Bucky tells him, applying some of the cold sanitizer and rubbing it in his palms and between his fingers. “You clean your hands before eating, you probably made that yourself,” he looks at the sandwiches, “including the bread.” He shakes his head. “I bet I seem very young, compared to the people you work with, I mean.”

“You do,” Joe says honestly, handing one of the sandwiches to Bucky. And it’s just as he suspected, the fuckers are homemade.

Bucky grins. “And why are _you_ so grown up?” Joe seems like he’s around Bucky’s age, but sometimes, when Bucky looks at him, he feels like he is staring into the eyes of a very old soul. Every now and again, it is as if Joe is a man out of time.

“I skipped childhood,” Joe says, and everything about him confirms he is telling the truth. This part fits the puzzle. “I was sick a lot growing up,” Joe reveals, “and then I wasn’t, but by then I was staring my first year of college. I was fifteen.”

Bucky lets it slide the fact that Joe just admitted to being some sort of genius,  because there is something more interesting in there, and he has to figure it out. “So you never messed around?”

“In what sense?”

Bucky shrugs. “Any sense.” He finally feels like he is getting somewhere, though he knows he is still far from the full picture.

“I’ve been serious,” Joe says, looking down at his sandwich, as his fingers pick at the bread, “for a very long time.”

“And why did you change your mind?” Bucky asks, his voice going lower, softer because Joe is finally letting him in and Bucky is afraid he might scare him by going at it too hard. Joe clearly has some kind of trust issues, and it’s something Bucky can relate to, so he’ll let Joe set the pace for this, but he also has to know, he has to understand. “About me, I mean.”

“I -- I guess I just wanted to see how it felt like,” Joe explains, still not looking at Bucky, “to do one of this hikes with someone.”

Bucky lets out a deliberately exaggerated sigh, which immediately serves its purpose of getting Joe to look at him. “Thanks fuck,” he says, “I thought you were gonna say it’s cos I made you laugh.”

“I don’t think you’re funny,” Joe says abruptly. Then he blushes. “I mean --”

“I get it,” Bucky replies, amused.

But Joe is too busy putting his foot in his mouth to hear it. “You never made me laugh -- No, that’s not what I --” At last, he runs out of steam, and at this point Bucky is biting down hard on his lower lip, to keep himself from laughing out loud. Joe finally realizes then, that he hasn’t offended Bucky, and huffs out a breath in completely fake annoyance. He can’t quite keep the corners of his mouth from going up. “Just eat the damn sandwich.”

Bucky eats the damn sandwich.

\---

Halfway through their journey back to the city, Bucky’s curiosity once more gets the best of him.

“You showed up at my doorstep,” he begins, playfully, “which, you know, was pretty cute and all, but -- I never told you where I live. And just so you know,” He quickly brings his hands up -- the left one with a slight delay -- in a placating gesture before Joe can start with the stammering feast. “I’m _not_ mad about that. I don’t care, really, but -- did you, uh, run some kind of background check on me, or something?” The way Joe is tight-lipped about his job, Bucky imagines the security measures of the bank must be through the roof.

For a while, Joe looks like he is not really sure how to answer that. He is quiet for about a minute before he answers. “The way we met--” he seems to be choosing his words very carefully, which annoys Bucky a little, he wishes Joe would stop walking on eggshells around him, and just accept that Bucky wants to be here, with him, and he’s not going to be spooked away by the wrong words. “A bit unusual, don’t you think?”

Bucky turns a little -- as much as the seat belt allows him -- tucking a leg under the other. “Right. Like I’m some kind of secret agent.” He grins as he lets his imagination run with it. “Like my mission is to seduce you -- not that I’m saying you're seduced by the whole,” he waves a hand in front of himself, “hobo thing, but yeah, like I’m supposed to seduce you into telling me all your secrets, that what you thought.” He shakes his head. “And now I’m gonna have to kill you,” Bucky jokes. However, Joe still seems anxious when Bucky looks at him. “Hey,” he waits for Joe to at least glance at him, “I’m not angry,” he reassures. “You said it yourself: I’m easy to read, ain’t I?”

The anxiety finally bleeds out of Joe’s muscles. He smiles. “That would be exactly why you were chosen,” he plays along. “Your innocence would lure me into a trap.”

Bucky’s mind draws up the terrible blank of nights he can’t remember. “I’m not innocent,” he mutters meekly.

Joe doesn’t seem fazed by the confession, though. “You might be the only innocent person I know, Bucky.”

It’s such a nice thing to say, Bucky hates to be the one to ruin the moment, but it looks like they are opening up to each other, and he has really enjoyed his time with Joe thus far, and so they really cannot delay this any longer. So he psyches himself for it, taking off the seat belt just as Joe stops in front of Bucky’s building, and asks, “Are you gonna tell your real name now?”


	2. GRANT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's past is kind of heavy, so you might want to skip that if stuff like drugs and underage sex is a trigger for you.

Joe is not quick enough to hide the surprise. Bucky meets his gaping mouth with a quirked eyebrow. “Regular Joe.” He huffs out a laugh. “Sorry to break it to you, pal, but there’s nothing regular about you.”

For a long time, Joe simply stares at him. He looks impressed, which makes Bucky feel proud of himself for putting together another part of the puzzle. Nevertheless, it doesn’t seem like he is going to get an answer; at least that’s what Bucky thinks until _Joe_ sticks a hand out to him.

“My name is Grant.”

Bucky shakes his hand. “Nice to meet you, Grant.”

The handshake goes on for a bit too long, but neither of them feels uncomfortable because of it. Bucky is the first to pull his hand away. He bends over and begins to untie the shoes he borrowed from Grant; he is lucky they are the same size, his feet would _not_ have made it to the end of the hiking on his beaten up boots.

“They’re really comfortable,” Bucky comments.

“You should keep them.”

Bucky turns his head to look at him. “Stop trying to give me shit.” He straightens up and leans a bit closer to Grant. “I haven’t given you anything,” he says, not so subtly looking at Grant’s mouth. Bucky wets his lips. He thinks his intentions are pretty clear now. He leans a little further.

Grant shakes his head. “It’s not how it works.” Bucky stops. “For a gift to truly be a gift there should be no expectation of it being reciprocated.”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky toes the goddamn sneakers off. He puts on his own shoes and opens the door. He turns to Grant. “Come on,” Bucky beckons, “walk me to the doorstep like a gentleman.”

Grant follows Bucky out of the car, and dutifully accompanies him to the front of his building.

“This is me,” Bucky says uselessly. He is not really sure how to go from here, but he doesn’t want the date to end just yet. If he is being honest with himself, and he’s been trying to do that for some time now, Bucky would very much like to move things along between the two of them, but he doesn’t want to push Grant into something he isn’t comfortable with. “So, uh, d’you wanna come up?” He asks quietly.

“I’d love to--”

“But?”

“Kinda fast,” Grant says, shrugging a little awkwardly, “don’t you think?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah, yeah, you’re probably right.” He wishes he could be better at disguising his disappointment, but even as he says it, Bucky can feel he is not being very successful.

Grant looks even more like a kicked puppy -- if that is possible -- as he sticks his hand out for yet another one of his fucking handshakes. And Bucky is so distracted, searching his mind for something to say so that Grant doesn’t feel bad for wanting to take things slow -- Bucky might be an asshole sometimes, but he is not _that_ kind of an asshole -- anyway, he is so distracted, he doesn’t realize he is giving Grant his left hand, which is the wrong hand because one: Grant offered his right hand for Bucky and two: because Bucky’s arm is slow enough to make things more embarrassing than they already are.

He internally cringes as Grant gracefully accepts the awkward shake and doesn’t even comment on how weak it is. Instead, Grant smiles as they let go and pretends nothing weird happened. “See you soon, Buck.”

 _I sure fucking hope so_ , Bucky thinks. “Can’t wait,” he says. And then he leaves Grant on the sidewalk and gets inside the building without another word.

Kate has a cigarette between her lips as she scrolls down some guy’s Instagram timeline when Bucky drops down on the couch next to her. He steals the cigarette from Kate and takes a long drag. “He’s gay,” he says absently, jutting his chin at her phone. Will he really see Grant again? Does Grant _want_ to see him again?

“You don’t know that,” Kate protests, snatching her cigarette back from him.

But Bucky barely hears her. Grant enjoyed the date, didn’t he? He sure seemed like he had a good time. Bucky knows _he_ did. He likes Grant, he really likes him. “Fuck,” Bucky breathes out getting up and rushing to the door. He is almost out the door when he finally registers what Kate said. “I know it cos I fucked him.” Then he is off, moving as fast as he can.

“He could be bi!” Kate calls out from the apartment.

Bucky ignores it; he doesn’t have time for that. He runs. He runs and runs, taking the stairs two at a time because the elevator would never be fast enough. So he runs, runs, runs, until he runs into Grant, halfway through the hall.

Grant’s face -- though he still seems a bit anxious -- lights up like a fucking Christmas tree. He reaches out to lightly hold Bucky by the elbows to steady him. Bucky _did_ almost bring both of them to the ground after all.

“You’ve gotta...” Bucky pants, “stop with... the fucking… handshakes.”

“I swear, I’ll never shake your hand again,” Grant says, half joking, half serious. He slides his hands down Bucky’s elbows until he can lace their fingers together. “This is crazy, isn’t it?” He asks, all bigs eyes and earnestness.

Bucky squeezes his right hand. “I think you’re due a little crazy.”

\---

Bucky’s bedroom is a war zone. He is not proud of it. And he definitely did _not_ remember this tiny little fact until he was opening the door for Grant to come in. “It’s usually tidier,” he starts. Grant lifts up an eyebrow. “It’s never tidier than this.”

“I don’t mind,” Grant says.

And God help Bucky, it looks like he means it too.

\---

Kate scattered fast when she saw Bucky with Grant, promising to keep Clint away from the apartment as well, so it’s just Bucky and Grant now. And for some mysterious reasons, they end up in the bathroom, where Bucky runs Grant a bath, heating up water on an electric kettle he keeps in the bathroom for this exact purpose.

Grant sits in the bathtub with his legs drawn up, resting his head on his bended knees. He seems sad, staring at his toes underwater, lost somewhere inside his own head. Bucky is by the tub, his left arm over the edge as the fingers of his other hand idly play with the water while they wait for the kettle to heat up the rest of it. He has changed into something more comfortable, but he is not ready for his left arm to be out in the open just yet, so he put on a long sleeved tee, and rolled up to his elbow on his right arm, so it wouldn’t get wet.

The kettle hisses, announcing that the water is ready. Bucky unplugs it and carefully moves to pour it in the bathtub, on the opposite side from Grant. “Careful,” he warns, and Grant draws his legs closer to his body.

Bucky tests the water. It’s too hot now, so he stands up and goes to the sink to take some cold water from the tap. When he gets back to the bathtub he finds Grant submerged, staring up at the ceiling. Bucky’s hand break the surface of the water so he can cup Grant’s jaw and run his thumb over his stubbly cheeks. He is so beautiful. And he has no idea, Bucky can see that; he is very good at reading insecurity. Bucky’s pretty versed in it. He wishes he could show Grant what he sees in him.

Bucky slowly runs his hand down Grant’s shoulder, and then further down his biceps, his forearm, and, once he gets to Grant’s wrist, Bucky tightens his grip and pulls him into a sitting position. Grant comes willingly, gasping, and then taking in lungfuls of air as he comes out. He looks at Bucky with such intensity, it’s like this is the first breath he has ever taken, and Bucky was the one to give it to him. Droplets run down Grant’s heaving chest. Bucky feels almost undeserving of this moment. He is too simple. Who the hell allowed him to witness this, to watch as Grant lets go of whatever shield he had put between himself and the world.

“Hi,” Bucky softly greets him. He worries on his bottom lip. He feels unprepared for this.

Grant stares at him for a moment. His eyes seem to search for something in Bucky’s. And Bucky tries to make himself as open as possible, even though it scares him a little. Grant uselessly wets his lips before saying, “You guessed, didn’t you?”

Bucky has no explanation as to how he knows what Grant is talking about, without any context, but he does, he knows exactly what this is about. He nods. “I guessed you hadn’t been with any guys,” he shrugs, “but I thought maybe some women.” Grant shakes his head. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t wanna, but -- why?” Bucky takes a deep breath. Grant looks so sad. “There’s nothing wrong about it,” Bucky tries to assure him. “Nothing wrong with you either. I’m just asking cos I wanna understand, what stopped you?”

Grant seems to need some time to think about it, or perhaps to figure out the best way to tell Bucky to fuck off and mind his own business. He is quiet for a bit, and then he smiles, but it’s an ugly thing, it’s scornful and self-deprecating. “I guess it’s because when people try to kiss me I say stuff like _for a gift to truly be a gift..._ ”

Bucky doesn’t react to the joke. He can’t. Not when it hurts Grant this much. So he waits because he knows there is more. Some of the puzzle pieces are putting themselves together now.

“I told you I was sick all the time growing up,” Grant goes on when it’s clear Bucky won’t say anything. “Then, during college, I was too young.” He averts his gaze. “I’ve always been out of step with the people around me. In the end, I left it so late, I gave up.”

“You thought you were gonna spend the rest of your life alone?” Still not ready to look at him, Grant simply nods. “I can’t even imagine how that feels.” Bucky has always been surrounded by people. And ever since he lost his parents he has done everything -- _anything_ \-- to not be alone.

After considering Bucky’s words for some time, Grant finally looks back at him. “There’s a rhythm to being alone, it’s like running.” His face does something complex like he is only realizing this now, as he says it. “It’s when you stop that you realize how tired you are.” He shakes his head. “How do you just admit you’ve never had a relationship? Who wants to be with a guy like this?”

“I do,” Bucky says, honestly, and without hesitation.

The smile Grant offers him this time is new. It’s a small, hopeful thing that lights up his entire face.

\---

They move back to Bucky’s bedroom at some point. Now they sit side by side on the bed, Grant with just a towel wrapped around his waist, and Bucky with only his feet bare.

“Drugs?” Bucky has no idea if Grant means he wants some, or if he is asking if Bucky uses it. And Bucky knows he is being deliberately elusive when he simply shakes his head, but that’s all he can offer right now. “Okay,” Grant nods along. “Maybe if you have any alcohol--”

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Bucky says, cutting through the impending rambling before it becomes a thing. The last thing he needs is for Grant to feel pressured about this. And Bucky it’s not even going to touch his _hand_ if they are not both sober for it.

“But I do,” Grant replies stubbornly. Then, with a little less certainty he adds, “Don’t you?”

Bucky turns so he is facing him. “Yeah,” he breathes out. “But I don’t wanna,” he glances at Grant’s bouncing leg, “force you into something you’re not ready for yet.”

Grant shakes his head. His leg stills. “I’m done waiting.” He tentatively brings his hand up to cup Bucky’s face, mirroring Bucky’s caress when he was in the bathtub. But different from what Bucky did, Grant’s hand doesn’t run down Bucky’s side, instead, his long fingers tuck Bucky’s hair behind his ear and stay there, massaging his scalp. Bucky all but melts and closes his eyes with a sigh, only to immediately reopen them when Grant suddenly tightens his grip on his nap and pulls him forward. “I don’t want to have to wait for you,” Grant whispers against Bucky’s lips.

Bucky hears him, so he closes the gap between them.

\---

They kiss unhurriedly, slowly exploring each other, piece by piece. For all his bravado, Grant’s hands tremble slightly as they travel through Bucky’s body. Bucky bites the inside of his cheek, he wishes he could say something to help Grant relax, he has nothing, even though can sympathize. His own left hand doesn’t offer much in the way of stability either, so he tries not to draw unnecessary attention to it.

But as much as Bucky tries to stall, the moment comes when he has to get rid of his shirt. He hesitates. His right hand holds the hem, but Bucky can’t bring himself to go further. He usually keeps it on, when it’s just some random hook-up. But this isn’t a nightstand, Grant _matters_.

He reads the discomfort on Bucky’s face. “You can keep it. if you want,” he says from where he is lying on the bed, proping himself up with his elbows, Bucky’s thighs bracketing him on either side.

Bucky considers this. Grant has been so brave! He laid his soul bare for Bucky today. And now Bucky can’t even take his fucking t-shirt off, because of some stupid insecurity lingering back from his bad years. _No,_ he shakes his head, _enough with that_ . He licks his lips and takes in a deep breath. “Just -- don’t ask. _Please_.” He can see Grant’s Adam’s apple bubble as he swallows, but Grant simply nods.

So, slowly--not because he is trying to tease, but because he is so nervous his arm is not cooperating--Bucky starts to undress. It’s the most unsexy thing he has ever done in bed with someone.

Halfway through the process, Grant offers to help him. His hands are gentle and warm, and they take away some of Bucky’s embarrassment. “You stop worrying about me,” he says as he finishes pulling the t-shirt off, and then smoothes Bucky’s ruffled hair back into place. “And I’ll try not to worry about you.” He doesn’t spare a single glance to Bucky’s scarred left side. Instead, Grant plants a soft kiss on his forehead. “You’re beautiful.”

Bucky wants to believe him, so he does.

\---

“You saw me,” Bucky says, “And you knew I wasn’t okay.” He watches the people on the street, only a few brave souls decided to come out and face the cold. It was cold too, the first time they met. Bucky supposes he is lucky Grant is one of these brave souls who keeps on going with their lives despite the shitty weather. “How did you know that?” He sips his coffee, hissing a little as it burns his tongue. He thought he had waited long enough. Apparently not.

“You’re easy to read,” Grant says yet again, cradling his own coffee so that the cup will warm his hands. Not that he needs it, Bucky thinks. Grant seems to run hot all year round, and his hands are always warm.

Bucky’s mind goes to the time he wasn’t alright. Grant is right. The only reason he is alive is because somebody saw him. Funnily enough, it’s also the reason he almost died in the first place, because he was clearly an easy target. “You know,” he says, finally turning to look at Grant, on the bench beside him, “the day we met, it was my birthday. That’s why I was shit-faced,” he shakes his head, “I don’t usually drink like that.” Not anymore, anyway.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Grant seems almost hurt by this revelation.

“Why should I? We didn’t even know each other.”

“I don’t know, Buck! I could’ve at least said happy birthday.”

Anyone else saying this would have sounded childish, and caused Bucky to roll his eyes at them, but this is Grant, and Bucky knows he means it. So he reaches out and gives Grant’s knee a squeeze. “‘S not like you’re an easy one to disclose personal information, kettle.” Bucky only found out about Grant’s birthday because he had to bail on their plans on the Fourth because he had already agreed to celebrate with a friend in DC. “Anyway, you’ll get your chance again in a few months.”

The smile Grant offers him is so bright it could blind a sucker.

“And you wanna know something else,” Bucky goes one, powered by the force of Grant’s smile alone. “When you asked me if I was okay, I think part of me _knew_ everything would be alright if only I’d get the chance to met you.” It’s cheesy as fuck, he knows it, but it’s true. And it makes Grant blush, which is just an added bonus.

He studies Bucky for a while, and whatever he finds makes Grant go a little sad around the edges. He averts his gaze before he asks, “What if everything doesn’t turn out okay.”

“Then we work on it,” Bucky answers with conviction. “Together.” He scooches closer to Grant. “Something wrong?”

This time Grant’s grin is one of the odd puzzle pieces. It’s forced, and it clearly doesn’t belong to him. But Bucky lets it slide, he has learned over the past few months that trying to force Grant to open up about anything before for he is ready to offer the information himself is an exercise in futility.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

And that’s the thing about Grant, Bucky has quickly caught up on, for all his secrecy, he too is a terrible liar.

\---

The drag queen contest must be in its final round if the intensity with which Mori -- an old Japanese American drag -- is singing the forties song is any indication. Dum Dum, sitting on the booth in front of Bucky, seem transfixed by the performance.

The club is quite busy for a Thanksgiving night, though the crowd is not usually this old. Bucky thinks most of this guys probably don’t have anyone to celebrate with, outside these walls. He glances at Dugan. Bucky can’t even imagine how hard it must have been, to be anything but straight back when Dugan was his age.

Dum Dum catches Bucky staring at him. “What are you looking at, kid?”

Bucky knows how much Dum Dum hates reminiscing, so he just shakes his head. “Nothing,” Bucky says. “I’m just happy you and Grant are finally going to meet.”

“And whose fault is it, that it took so long?” Even his mustache looks judgy.

Bucky tries not to feel guilty, but it’s hard. He has been with Grant for eight months now, and apart from a few brief encounters with Clint and Kate, it’s almost like Grant has been actively avoiding Bucky’s friends. In fact, the only reason Grant is coming to meet Dum Dum today is because Bucky guilt tripped him into it after he bailed on dinner with Bucky’s roommates yesterday.

Bucky checks the time again on his new cell phone. He should have known telling Grant about his birthday would have consequences. And Bucky was really fucking mad at him, it was their first actual fight, and maybe that is why he ended up accepting the gift so that they could make amends. Anyway, Bucky _did_ need a phone, big time, but he also made Grant promise that would be the last present he gives Bucky for the next five years.

Grant is late, which is usually a sign he will not come at all, and instead, text Bucky two days from now to apologize. They’ll have sex and Bucky will forgive him, because -- god help him -- he _knows_ he is in love; Bucky has never been more certain of anything his whole life. And he knows Grant feels the same, and that it’s hard for him to open up. Bucky _knows_ all of this, he can feel it, in the way they look at each other, the way they touch and cling to one another in bed when they make love; when they fall asleep. That’s why Bucky stays, that’s why he is willing to fight for them.

He is about to dial Grant’s number when he hears it.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, I know I’m late,” Grant says.  Bucky looks up just in time to watch the carefree, slightly apologetic smile, slip out of his face. Bucky follows his gaze. Grant’s eyes are on Dum Dum. Grant frowns, but it’s only for a second before he schools his face back to something neutral, and his attention goes back to Bucky.

From the corner of his eyes, Bucky notices Dugan is trying hard to keep his eyes on the stage.

“It’s fine,” Bucky says, at last, pocketing his phone as Grant sits down next to him. “Grant, this is my great friend Timothy Dugan.” Bucky gestures between the two of them.

“This is Dum Dum?” Grant asks, even as he extends his hand out to shake Dugan’s.

Dugan seems a bit reluctant, as he accepts Grant’s handshake. “I’ve long given up trying to make him stop calling me that.” He holds Grant’s hand inside his as he speaks. “The kid has a hard time letting go of stuff,” Bucky notices Grant is discreetly trying to pull his hand free. “Even when they’re not good for him,” Dum Dum adds, before finally letting go.

Bucky rolls his eyes, good-naturedly. He knows Dugan doesn’t mean to sound like a dick. After everything they have been through, it’s only natural he would end up feeling almost like he is Bucky’s dad sometimes, especially when he feels like he has to protect him. And Bucky knows he hasn’t made things easier, what with his track record on dudes. But that was before Grant.  Dum Dum will like him when they get to meet, Bucky is sure of it.

For now, though, Grant’s jaw is ticking with how hard he is clenching it. Bucky puts a hand on his thigh and leaves it there. Grant is not big on public displays of affection, but Bucky figures he can probably loosen up a bit inside a gay club. “How was your day?”

“Normal,” Grant answers absently. He is busy watching Mori on stage. As far as Bucky knows, this is the first time he is seeing a drag show.

“Too much for your taste?” Dugan asks, following Grant’s gaze. Grant shakes his head and looks at him, but Dum Dum doesn’t give him the space to say anything. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy who comes to this places, _Grant_. You don’t even look gay if you don’t mind me saying."

“ _Dugan_ ,” Bucky scolds.

“Neither do you,” Grant says at the same time. “And I’m bi,” he goes on, “not that I owe you any sort of explanation.”

Dugan lets out a boisterous laugh. “Lower your fists, boy. I’m not trying to pick a fight with you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Bucky grumbles under his breath, but neither of them hears him.

“I just worry about Bucky,” Dugan continues. “I’m guessing he didn’t tell you how we met --” And just like that Bucky’s insides freeze, even though he knows Dugan wouldn’t do that to him, Bucky can’t bear the thought of another word coming out of Dum Dum’s mouth. So he glares at his friend, vehemently shaking his head. “Bucky is not that good at choosing partners,” Dugan finishes with a scoff.

“Yeah, fuck you too, old man.” _Thank you._

“I would never hurt Bucky,” Grant says. He looks a bit horrified that Dugan even implied something like that. He takes hold of Bucky’s hand under the table. “I’d never,” he repeats, his eyes on Bucky’s.

Bucky twines their fingers and leans in to kiss the corner of his mouth. “I know.”

“Anyway,” Dum Dum cuts through their eye-fucking, “I’m glad to see how happy Bucky is. I suppose I have you to thank for that.”

“I actually think Bucky does much more for me than I could ever do for him,” Grant replies, looking at Dum Dum before his attention goes back to Bucky, whose heart is fluttering in his chest because of his fucking stupid beautiful man. “He makes me feel like I’m a human being, like I matter -- at least to someone.”

Bucky has to honest to god _bite_ his tongue not to say anything like _I love you_ or _marry me_ , because as much as he does feel that way, Dum Dum is right, and Bucky has to be careful with his heart. After all, he has already come close to losing it -- both metaphorically and physically -- a few too many time.

In the end, he settles for, “Of course you matter. You’re -- you’re really important to me, Grant.” And he is rewarded with the sweet, shy smile Bucky knows is reserved for him alone.

\---

Grant and Bucky stay until the end of the show. And since the mood between Dum Dum and Grant remained weird throughout the whole night, Bucky decides it’s best if Grant and he just call it in early.  He can try to make this two stubborn assholes like each other some other day.

Bucky lets a loud yawn and announces that he is ready to go home.

“I just need to use the restroom,”Grant tells him as they stand up.

“Alright, I’ll wait for you outside.” Bucky watches Grant’s back as he navigates towards the back of the club until he disappears. He shrugs in his jacket and turns to Dugan. “Good night, Dum Dum.”

But Dugan doesn’t say anything, instead, he grabs Bucky’s wrist and turns him around. There is genuine concern on his face when Bucky looks at him. “Is everything okay, Bucky?” He asks quietly. “This man -- is he --”

Bucky puts his good hand on Dugan’s shoulder. “I know you worry. _Fuck!_ God knows I’ve given you enough reason to,” Bucky says softly. “But Grant is one of the good ones.” Dugan is an amazing judge of character, he should be able to see what Bucky sees in Grant. Bucky squeezes Dum Dum’s shoulder before letting it go. “Believe me.”

Dugan sighs resigned. “Anything happens, anything at all --”

“I’ll come running to you,” Bucky finishes, “like I always do.” Then he leans down and plants a quick kiss on Dum Dum’s forehead. “Get some sleep, old man.”

\---

He is lightening up a cigarette when Grant finds him. As always, he gives Bucky a full lecture on health with glare alone. As always, Bucky ignores him in lieu of bluntly asking:

“Have you and Dugan met before?”

“No.”

And though Bucky can _see_ he isn’t lying, there is still something in there he can’t put his finger on. He really fucking hates these odd puzzle pieces.

\---

When they get back to Bucky’s apartment he goes straight to the bathroom, leaving Grant to fend for himself a little as Bucky takes care of his personal hygiene. He brushes his teeth and even flosses before joining Grant in the bedroom.

Grant’s influence on Bucky’s life is noticeable in several accounts, but the state of his bedroom is, without a doubt, the most drastic one. Bucky takes a moment to enjoy the view, as he stands on the threshold. In all his life, Bucky has never before had a bedroom this tidy, not even when his mom was still alive. The floor is clean, the bed is made, and his dirty clothes are in the hamper -- which he definitely didn’t own a year ago -- where they belong.

Bucky has to hand it to Grant, he does feel better coming home to this instead of the depression cave he had before. And he had thought he would need Grant to help him keep this up, but Bucky is actually managing to maintain the clean state of his bedroom all on his own. He feels very mature making his bed every morning. He is never going to share that with Grant, though, because he does _not_ need an _I told you so_ , thank you very much.

When Bucky finishes his inspection his eyes land on Grant, on the bed. He has his back to the door and everything about him screams _leave me alone_ , but if he really wanted that he would have just dropped Bucky off and gone to his own place, instead of staying here. Bucky huffs out a tired breath. He knows what Grant wants, and he can’t delay it any longer.

He sits on the end of the bed, near Grant’s tucked feet, knowing that Grant might not want much proximity after Bucky is done telling his story to him.

“Dum Dum mention the day we met,” Bucky starts, and his voice is serious enough to make Grant turn his face around to look at him.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Grant says softly.

Bucky almost wants to snort. They seem to always be telling that to each other. And not for the first time, he asks himself why it is so difficult for the two of them to open up to each other, to just _be_. He shakes his head. “No, no, I wanna share this with you,” Bucky tells him. “I told you, you’re important to me, Grant. And I want you to know this about me.”

“I love you,” Grant blurts out, sitting up. “You don’t have to tell me anything.”

It’s almost like he is pleading, and Bucky feels like he is about to burst the protective bubble they have been living in for the past eight months. He shuts his eyes tightly, needing a moment. And when Bucky opens them again, Grant is staring back at him in anguish.

“I love you,” Bucky says softly. “It’s why I gotta say this.” When Grant surges forward, Bucky puts a hand on his chest to stop him. “Just,” he lightly pushes Grant back, thankful that he goes willingly, “Don’t say anything ‘til I’m done, alright.”

He waits for Grant’s nod to start.

“When I was fifteen,” he licks his lips, “my parents died.” Bucky smiles sadly, he knows Grant became an orphan at around the same age. They match. “I was with them,” he goes on and catches Grant’s eyes on his left arm. Bucky shakes his head. “That’s not what did it,” he explains. “Nothing happened to me then.” _Physically._ “My dad was a soldier, so they let me stay in the camp. I was gonna be a sergeant, like him. But -- I couldn’t shake their deaths off, I couldn’t stop thinking of how I just… and they didn’t, of how I was completely alone in the world.”  Survivor’s guilt, somebody told him once. He shakes his head again. “Before... I was a pretty social kid, I’ve always been. But then… I had to be around people twenty-four seven, I couldn’t _bear_ the thought of being alone, not for a fucking minute. And,” he lets out a rueful snort. “I mean, I don’t wanna brag, but I know how I look -- or at least how I _used_ to. Not that hard to keep people around, if you know what I mean.”

Grant knows. He has that kind of angry at the world look on his face like he is picturing a defenseless, insecure teenage Bucky just offering himself to anyone who would have him. He isn’t wrong.

“Well, you know how these things go,” Bucky continues. “People are not always the best, so you start getting high so you can stomach them, because even then,” he shrugs, “it beats being alone. Anyway, fast forward a couple of years, I meet this older guy, he’s a Seal, he was gonna stay at the camp for a month or two, I dunno. Not twenty-four hours since the chopper dropped him off and I’m on my knees for him.” Bucky has to stop to swallow down the lump in his through. He wants to scrub his skin _off._

Grant looks absolutely appalled. “Who’s this guy?” he asks, full of righteous fury. “You were seventeen!”

“It was consensual.”

“Not if you were high!” Grant argues back, loudly.

“Hey,” Bucky shouts frustrated, “you promised!”

Grant begrudgingly shuts his mouth.

“That’s not important now.” Bucky’s right hand comes up to hold his left arm. It’s something he used to do a lot, but unlike before, he doesn’t give into to urge to scratch at it until it bleeds. “We went out one day. I was driving. Believe it or not, this time _I_ was the sober one.” He huffs. “Turns out it didn’t matter.” He tightens the grip on his arm. “We were fighting about something, I didn’t even know what. I never knew why we ended up fighting, but we always did. Anyway, this time was no different -- then I took my eyes off the road for a fucking second... must have crossed a red light. I don’t really remember. I woke up in a hospital; my arm so fucked up it was practically a miracle I got to keep it. And I never saw Brock again.

“Since I wasn’t a valuable option to the army anymore,” Bucky’s voice is so detached, it’s like he is listening to somebody else talk, “And I was eighteen anyway, the folks at the camp told me to get lost.” Not that Bucky could really blame them, not when they had been putting up with his shit for years. “So I came back here. This place is actually mine.” Thank god for Clint and Kate’s rent money, though. Bucky would never be able to keep the apartment on his pension alone. “But, before I met my roommates, my worst fear came true.” And as much as Bucky tries to keep a lid on it, his voice still breaks, “I was all alone.”

Bucky lowers his eyes. He forces his right hand to let go of his left arm and splays both hands on his thighs, to keep them from trembling.

“I spent most of those years high as a fucking kite,” Bucky confesses, still looking down. He can’t bring himself to face Grant. Not now. Not as he tells him this. “Then, one day, I was -- I was just numb.” He shakes his head. “You could’ve sliced me open and I wouldn’t’ve felt a thing. It scared me.” He sniffs. “I didn’t wanna be by myself, so I posted an ad online. I -- I told where I’d be and I said, _fuck_ , I said anyone could come. I wouldn’t charge anything, I just wanted company.”

His stomach churns and he has to swallow down the bile.

“People came. I don’t remember how many. I don’t remember much of what happened. I guess I kept using, whatever I was using until -- there were these two guys, they, we were fooling around I think, but, something happened. They put me in a car -- then they dropped me off at the club we went to tonight. That’s how Dugan met me for the first time, covered in my own vomit and... a lot of other things from other people.” He glances up to find tears steadily running down Grant’s face. Bucky tries to smile, this part now is better. He wants Grant to see that. “He took me to a hospital. I was put on a course of PrEP, just in case I’d been exposed to HIV. Which didn’t happen,” he hurriedly adds. “I’m clean, I swear.” Grant opens his mouth but Bucky raises a hand to stop him. “I’m not done.

“The medication made me sick. Then the withdrawal made me sick. I alternated between days I didn’t leave my bed and the ones I had to sleep by the toilet. Meanwhile, I lost my job because I had missed too many days, but by then I’d met Clint and Kate. We watch out for each other now, but back then, Dum Dum was the one taking care of me. He even made me see a shrink for some time.”

“Buck--”

“I never did anything like that again. I’m always safe now. And I’ve never cheated on you. I’m telling you all of this because I don’t want to keep any secrets from you.” His stomach is in knots, but he still forces himself to look at Grant.

“Can I hug you?” He seems a bit scared like _Bucky_ might be the one rejecting him, and not the other way around.

And Bucky, who started telling this story with his mind half made up that he would have disgusted Grant beyond repair by the end of it, is finally, _finally_ able to let out the breath he’d been holding for almost ten years. His eyes well up. He nods, and the next thing he knows, Bucky finds himself safely involved in Grant’s warm embrace. And just like that, his entire body goes slack.

Grant kisses the top of his head. “I love you,” he says, and he keeps repeating it as Bucky sobs in his arms. “I love you, I love you.”

\---

It’s a long time until Bucky calms down, but at some point during the night, he finally stops crying. Neither of them sleeps.

Grant starts to lightly run his fingers up and down Bucky’s left arm. “Does it hurt?” he asks softly. Bucky shakes his head. He hardly feels the caress as it is. “I wish I could show you what I see,” Grant says, “when I look at you.” And just like that his face suddenly lights up. He maneuvers the two of them into a sitting position. “Hey, can I draw you?”

Bucky frowns. “I didn’t know you draw.”

“I haven’t, for a long time,” Grant explains. “But ever since I met you --” He ducks his head, chuckling softly before looking up at Bucky through his eyelashes. “I think you might be my muse, Buck.”

Bucky feels the heat rising up his cheeks. “This mean you’ve been secretly drawing dirty pictures of me?”

Grant answers him with a boyish grin. “Mean I’ve wanted to,” he says, “for some time now.”  

“I don’t know,” Bucky says. His cheeks are itchy because of the tears that dried on his face, and he knows they are blotchy. Plus, his eyes are definitely bloodshot. Grant shouldn’t even be _looking_ at Bucky right now, let alone immortalizing him on paper. “I’m a mess.”

“Maybe,” Grant concedes. Then he takes a hold of Bucky’s fucked up left hand. “But you’re so much more than that,” he says, before bringing Bucky’s hand up to his lips, and planting a soft kiss on his knuckles. Then he smiles up at Bucky because he is a damn dirty fighter who knows exactly how to push Bucky’s buttons. “Come on,” he urges, standing up, and taking Bucky with him. “Wash up. I’ll get you some water.”

“Well, I hate to ruin this for you, but I don’t exactly have any paper lying around,” Bucky tells him with a smirk.

“Way ahead of you, Buck,” Grant says, picking up the backpack he always brings when he stays at Bucky’s. He opens the backpack and produces a small sketchbook and a pencil case from within it. “I might have been working towards this for the past week.”

At least he has the decency of pretending to be apologetic.

Bucky exhales loudly like this is the most laborious task ever asked of him. “Fine,” he concedes as he drags his feet towards the bathroom, leaving Grant’s light chuckles behind him.

\---

Grant is a goddamn artist.

Bucky finds that out about after an hour or so of trying hard not to fidget and ducking out of the way of the cushions Grant threw his way every now and then when he wouldn’t stop moving. But, apart from the cushion-throwing, Grant sat cross-legged on the floor in front of Bucky’s bed in complete concentration. His hand kept working with amazing dexterity even as he glanced up at Bucky once in a while to keep track. He worries at his bottom lip as he draws, and a frowns at the paper when something doesn’t go his way.

Bucky is completely entranced just looking at him. This is it, Bucky realizes as he watches Grant, this is Grant entirely at his element. This is almost the full picture of the puzzle. Grant visibly pours his soul into the drawing. Bucky hasn’t even seen it yet, but he can feel it, just by the relaxed set of Grant’s shoulder and the way he all but folds himself over the paper, as if he were a much smaller man.

But then Grant realizes Bucky is staring and repositions him yet again. Bucky feigns annoyance but does as he is told, keeping his face turned towards the window. He absently notices someone is living in one of the apartments across the street, which has been empty forever due to it being a shitty place. Bucky honestly hopes the person gets to move somewhere better soon.

At some point they must both lose track of time, comfortable in each other’s silent company and tugged away from the rest of the world as they are. It’s a feeling, Bucky realizes when he tunes back in as Grant announces he is done, that he wouldn’t mind stretching for the rest of the weekend. So, rolling his shoulders to get the stiffness out of them, Bucky decides to pitch the idea to Grant.

“Hey,” he calls, lightly not to disturb the quiet night. Grant looks up. “What do you say we go somewhere for the weekend. Just the two us,” he smirks, “and your backpack of endless supplies, of course.”

Grant raises an eyebrow at him. “You mock it,” he says as he effortlessly stands up, “but we both know you’ll be the first to benefit from it, Barnes.”

Bucky throws his head back as he laughs. Grant rarely last-names him, and for some reason, Bucky finds it funny whenever he does. He wants to retaliate, but he realizes he doesn’t actually know Grant’s last name. How they have come this long without it ever coming up, Bucky has no idea. “Whoa, I just realized I don’t know your--” he starts, but at the same time, Grant swivels the sketchbook around, and Bucky forgets what he was about to say.

It’s so beautiful Bucky can barely recognize it as a picture of himself. Sure, it looks _exactly_ like him, and it’s got the same sadness behind the eyes, but, at the same time, it’s so much more _alive_ than Bucky has ever felt in the last fifteen years. Hope emanates from this lone figure, gazing at the stars from his tiny bedroom window. Drawing Bucky has the hint of a smile on the corner of his mouth, and it’s enough to illuminate his whole face.

Grant places the sketchbook on Bucky’s hand. Up and close he can see all of the details. The slight wrinkles in his clothes. The small scars on the back of his left hand. And then something… At first, Bucky thinks it might be some sort of watermark because it’s mostly hidden by Bucky’s body. But after studying the image a little closer, Bucky realizes what it is. He gasps. It’s a phoenix. And his body isn’t hiding it, the phoenix casts _from_ Bucky, in such a way that it almost feels like the wings are part of him.

Bucky’s welled up eyes search Grant’s, and find him kneeling by the bed, in front of him. “That man,” Grant says, gesturing at the drawing, “has been through hell, but he came out so much stronger. And, what’s more, incredible is that he kept his heart,” he smiles, “so _fucking_ pure. He still believes in people, even after everything that happened to him. He still believes in love.”

Bucky chuckles wetly. “Why are you so fucking perfect?” He carefully sets the sketchbook on the bed, so that he can bring his arms up to Grant’s shoulders.

Grant blushes and shakes his head. “I’m not,” he says. “But I know a guy who makes me want to try my hardest to be.”

And really, how is Bucky supposed to handle this man. He is suddenly overcome with the urge to kiss Grant, and there is absolutely nothing stopping him, so he does. Bucky tries to pour his heart into the kiss because he knows words would never suffice. He likes to think Grant gets it, gets _him_ , either way. When they break apart, he rests his forehead on Grant’s.

“So, about that weekend?”

“I have to buy a new battery for my laptop,” Grant says with a slight wince. “I can’t go without replacing it.”

Bucky shrugs. “If you gotta work, it’s fine. I just wanna spend some time with you.”

“You’re really okay with it?”

“Yeah,” Bucky assures him. Then he gives Grant a peck on the lips. “As long I have you.”

\---

Bucky is on cloud fucking nine throughout the whole day. He kisses Grant goodbye in the morning, and if Bucky lingers a little, with the promise for more later, that’s nobody’s business but theirs.

All in all, he is even surprised they got any sleep at all after the rollercoaster of a night they had, but after discussing their weekend plans, both Bucky and Grant immediately fell asleep. And Bucky can’t remember ever feeling that safe in someone’s arms.

Now he feels lighter than he has in years, and it’s all due to the fact he is no longer keeping things from Grant. And if Grant still has stuff he needs to work on, Bucky will respect that. Bucky trusts him. They can trust each other.

He packs for the weekend with a smile on his face, and an eye constantly at the clock. Bucky can barely wait to get away from the city, even if it’s just for a couple of days, and enjoy the quiet with Grant by his side.

He is ready much earlier than he is supposed to, so he kills some time watching cooking shows with Kate and Clint, while reminding Clint that _no_ , _they cannot get a dog_ , because not one of them has ever managed to keep a plant alive for more than a week, before heading out for Grant’s. Bucky knows Grant would have preferred to come to pick him up himself, but Bucky is way too excited to just wait out, plus, Grant might be working still, and Bucky would rather wait with him, than _for_ him.

However, the joke is apparently on Bucky.

No answer comes when he rings Grant’s doorbell.

Bucky waits for about another half minute before trying again, only to get the same result. He takes his phone from his pocket and dials Grant’s number. It goes straight to voicemail, so Bucky tries the doorbell again. Nothing. He glances at the clock on his phone. Perhaps Grant is still at work since, as Bucky has come to learn some time ago, he has strange work hours.

Letting out a resigned sigh, Bucky sits down on the front stoop and rests his elbow on his knee and his head on his hand. He watches the street as he tries reaching Grant’s phone again to no avail. Mild anxiety creeps up on him.

About thirty minutes later, Bucky gets tired of sitting and begins to pace, back and forth, on the sidewalk.

Grant’s voicemail is completely full at the one hour mark.

Bucky’s stomach is in knots.

By the time his phone beeps to life, the sun has long gone down. Bucky’s heartbeat quickens, only to have the hope sour in his mouth when he checks it to find just a low battery notification on the screen.

He looks at the house again, as if willing it to come to life and open its door to spew a very apologetic Grant from its inside. Of course, none of that happens, and Bucky is left with no other option than to pick up his things from the stoop and go home to lick his wounds in private.

\---

Kate has a bunch of people over when Bucky gets home. He wants to be angry, to yell at the drunk people to get the fuck out of his apartment, but he has no right to do it. He told his roommates he would be out the whole weekend. Bucky can’t sour their evening just because his was apparently canceled without his knowledge.

So he swallows down his irritation, and instead asks, “Anyone called?” But the music is loud and Kate doesn’t hear him, so he tries again, much louder. “Did anyone call?” he screams, just as the song ends.

This time, several heads turn to him in shocked silence.

“ _Bucky_?” Kate is little passed tipsy and her voice slurs a bit. ”What are you doin’ here? I thought you’d be gone by now.” She gets up and sways her way towards him. She puts a warm hand on his arm. “Are you okay?”

Bucky shrugs her hand off, annoyed, even though he knows full well she is not his target. “Did Grant call your phone?”

Kate frowns. She is thankfully drunk enough not to register his being rude to her. “No. Why would he? Did anything happen ‘tween you guys?”

“I dunno,” Bucky answers. He has no idea what is going on, but there is a bad feeling weighing on the bottom of his stomach, and he can’t shake it off. “I don’t know,” he repeats quietly, before bypassing a confused Kate, and leaving her and her drunk friends behind.

Bucky drops his things on the bedroom floor as he makes his way to the bed. He couldn’t care less about where they land. He puts his phone to charge and sits down by his pillows. Then he sends Grant yet another text.

_whats goin on_

Unsurprisingly, there is no answer. Bucky chews on his bottom lip as he rewinds their last conversation. And, just like that, he starts to feel sick. He opens the message app again.

_did I do something wrong?_

\---

It’s raining heavily as Bucky makes his way to Grant’s house. He is soaked through, but at least the beard helps keep his face a little warmer.

It has been three days since he last saw Grant.

When Bucky gets to the house, for the first time he doesn’t follow his ritual. He doesn’t knock or even call for Grant. This time, Bucky simply opens his jacket to get the ziplock with the letter he wrote for Grant. And just as he opens the letterbox, something inside catches his eyes. The envelope falls from his hand. Bucky squints as he tries to look closer through the tiny slot.

The shadow is gone in the blink of an eye, but Bucky knows what he saw. He straightens up and raps on the door. “Grant!” A faint noise comes from within, but apart from it, there is no answer. “Come on, this isn’t funny.” Frustrated, Bucky punches the door. “Grant!” He screams. Pain sears all through his right side. Bucky ignores it. “Why are you doing this?” he asks, now quietly, to the door.

Bucky stands there, wet and shivering, for he doesn’t know how long, but the house remains as silent as a graveyard. His will withers and dies along with his anger, and he asks himself what the hell he is doing. He is old enough he should have already understood and accepted what is happening here. The letter feels beyond childish, but it’s too late now, though, with Bucky’s luck -- and he can’t even tell if this is good or not -- Grant won’t even open it.

Bucky goes home.

\---

“You seriously need to sleep, man,” Clint says, dropping on the sofa next to Bucky.

“Mind your own business, Barton,” Bucky shoots back, picking up the remote and turning the volume up a few notches.

“Come on, Bucky,” Barton argues because he is a fucking dog with a bone when he wants to be. “No guy is worth this. You look like crap.”

Bucky snorts. “Well, thank you.” He looks away from the television to glare at Clint. “Your insightful comment has certainly improved my mood.”

But Clint completely ignores his sarcasm and instead lunges towards Bucky to grab the remote from his hand. “You need forty-eight hours of sleep,” he says, turning the TV off. “followed by a long shower and a shave. Then we go out somewhere and find you a nice rebound.” He grins like he just let Bucky in a million dollar idea. “What do you say?”

Bucky stares at him dead in the eyes as he takes his remote back.

\---

He smokes an entire pack of cigarettes in front of Grant’s house.

\---

“Eleven. Fuckind. Days,” Bucky enunciates when Dum Dum opens the door for him. He doesn’t miss the eye roll, but he is too busy venting to respond just yet, so he continues, “What sort of game does he think he’s playing, anyway?” Bucky asks as he follows Dugan into his study.

Dum Dum takes his time pouring himself a drink from the bar he keeps behind his desk before he turns to Bucky. “Just,” he says, only to stop for a small sip of  his whiskey, “out of curiosity, do you have any interests outside of your own life?”

Bucky gaps at him for a few good seconds until he finds his voice. “Excuse me?”

“You do realize you don’t talk about anything else,” Dum Dum asks.

He is right. Bucky can’t even argue with him, because he is right. And then, just to further his humiliation, Bucky’s eyes begin to well up. It’s been two weeks since he last saw Dum Dum, and the only reason Bucky is here is to talk about his problem. “I’m sorry, Dum Dum,” he mumbles. “I shou-- I’m gonna go.”

“No,” Dum Dum says as Bucky is about to turn around. He crosses the distance between them in a couple of steps and puts a hand o Bucky’s shoulder. “Wait up, kid. What’s going on?” Stubbornly, Bucky just shakes his head. “James.”

“Grant ghosted me,” Bucky admits, at last, looking up to keep his eyes dry.

“I don’t speak internet.”

“He’s gone,” Bucky explains. “He just,” his shoulders drop in defeat, “disappeared.”

Dum Dum frowns. “Did you have a fight or something? What happened?”

“I told him. I told him about my past.”

“Oh.”

Bucky snorts. “Yeah. Talk about a stupid move, huh.”

“No,” Dum Dum says, shaking his head. “No, son. If you like this man, of course, you’d want to be honest with him. This isn’t your fault.” He shoots Bucky a concerned look. “You know that, don’t you, Bucky?”

“I fucked up,” Bucky says. He can’t face Dugan, so he talks to his shoes. “I should’ve kept my mouth shut.”

“And spend god knows how much time wondering if he would still love you if he knew? No, no, boy. That’s not right.”

“So, what do I do?”

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” Dugan says, heartfelt. “But, sometimes we just have to accept it’s over, and move on.” It’s so not what Bucky wants to hear. But perhaps this is exactly the wake-up call he needed, even if he can’t accept it just yet. “I know it’s not an easy process,” Dugan continues, once is clear Bucky has no counter arguments this time, “I’ve been where you are. It takes time to mend a heart, kid.”

Bucky shoots him a curious look. “Did you ever recover?”

“Not completely,” Dum Dum confesses. “But that’s just the thing, Bucky. It never really does.”

\---

Bucky spends the night at Dugan’s, who actually manages to put him to sleep with a cup of camomile tea and an old, black and white movie, and he has to admit he feels more like a human being after some eight hours of unforced, natural unconsciousness.

However, the universe must be actively conspiring against him, because Bucky gets home to find the apartment has been broken in. And, of course, Bucky’s bedroom would be the main target. Perhaps because the place is his, Clint suggests, the muggers might have thought Bucky had money hidden somewhere. And they have searched thoroughly, judging by the fact someone even went to the trouble of ripping Bucky’s mattress open. Joke’s on them, though. Bucky hasn’t had enough money to keep it hidden since his parents were alive, and gave him a monthly allowance.

They finish inspecting the apartment and sit around the small breakfast table to discuss what to do. Clint and Kate spend some time arguing about a rotation system they should start so that the apartment is never empty, but soon come to the conclusion that isn’t even remotely viable, and Bucky sort of tunes them out as they start to brainstorm other options.

“We should call the police,” Clint is saying when Bucky tunes back in.

“What for?” Kate argues. “Nothing was taken. And our only casualty is Bucky’s mattress.” She puts a hand on top of his on the table. “Which we’ll totally replace, asap.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bucky says.

“Hell yeah, I’m gonna worry. I’m not about to leave you to sleep on the floor just because some asshole tried to steal from us.”

Bucky is moved by her words. He turns his palm up so he can squeeze her hand. “Thanks, Kate.”

The three of them are startled by a sudden knock on the door. They exchange puzzled looks for a moment before Bucky heaves a tired sigh and goes to see who it is. He opens the door to reveal, to his complete surprise, his downstairs neighbor, Mr. Falsworth.

“Oh, hello,” Mr. Falsworth greets him with his thick British accent, and a sweet smile.

“Hey, Mr. F,” Bucky says with the same warmth. Falsworth has been living in the building since before Bucky’s parents moved here, and he has always been nice to the Barnes, especially Bucky when he was little; Mr. Falsworth would often have some kind of candy to sneak to him when Bucky’s mother wasn’t looking. “What brings you up here, to the common folk?”

Mr. Falsworth’s eyes crinkle as he chuckles. “Oh, these old knees…” He shakes his head. “Not what they used to be, I’ll tell you.” Bucky can imagine. The elevator rarely works and Falsworth _is_ pretty old. “And I’m afraid my visit is not social today either.” Bucky puts a hand over his heart, feigning shock, which makes his neighbor laugh even more. “Here,” Falsworth says, offering a small envelope to Bucky. “I think the postman must have made a mistake. I reckon he had the wrong James.”

Bucky takes the envelope from his hand, and sure enough, _James_ is written on the back, but nothing else. Whatever is inside, though, is definitely heavier than paper. He thanks Mr. Falsworth for his kindness, and the old man leaves with a promise of having tea together some time, and Bucky makes a mental note of bringing Clint with him, because he knows the two of them are good friends, plus, Clint would never forgive him if Bucky neglected to include him on a free meal encounter.

He closes the door behind Mr. Falsworth and finds two pairs of curious eyes staring back at him.

“Was that Monty?” Clint asks. Bucky confirms. “Did he see anyone coming in here?”

“No, uh,” Bucky says. For some reason, he doesn’t feel like sharing whatever it is in the envelope with his friends. “Just a case of mixed up mail.”

“Since when do _you_ have mail?”

“Screw you, Barton. I get mail,” Bucky argues defensively. “And if you excuse me, I’m gonna open it in private.”

When he gets to his room, Bucky closes the door and sits down on the floor with his back leaned against it, just in case Kate or Clint try to come after him. Nevertheless, it turns out he had nothing to worry about. The only thing inside the envelope is a set of keys. They look somewhat familiar, but then again, all keys look pretty much the same, so that’s not saying a lot.

However, Bucky has a hunch.

\---

He stands, uncertain, in front of Grant’s house a few minutes before finally working up the courage to try on of the keys on the lock. The first one doesn’t fit, and neither does the second, but Bucky can’t say he is surprised when he gets it right on the next try.

The first thing Bucky notices is that his letter is not in the collector. “Hello,” he calls as he moves further inside. “Grant?” But silence is the only thing to greet him back. And even though it’s clear there is no one here, he tries again, he has to. He calls Grant’s name again. Nothing.

The house is dark, and the living room and kitchen are cold and empty. Bucky shivers and hugs himself. He tries the lights, only to find that they don’t work. Grant’s laptop, which usually sits on the counter, is nowhere to be seen.

There is something weird about this whole thing, and a little voice on the back of Bucky’s head is telling him he should just get out. He ignores the voice, he is trespassing, after all, it’s only natural that he feels nervous, he is committing a fucking crime. Deep down, though, Bucky knows that is not really the reason the small hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

It’s too late to run now, anyway. He is already here, so he might as well see this thing through.

He moves to the bedroom. Everything is exactly where it is supposed to be. Grant’s clothes are in the closet, his shoes are in place, ties, socks, and even a couple of Bucky’s t-shirts he’s forgotten here, are all ironed and folded on the drawer Grant had reserved for him.

The bathroom, spotless as usual, is another dead end.

As Bucky leaves the bathroom, he looks up and notices something he never had before. There is a small handle on the ceiling, like an access panel. Curious, Bucky grabs a bench from the kitchen and stands on it to pull at the handle. As he does, a narrow flight of stairs drops down, almost hitting him on the face.

“Grant?” He calls as he climbs the stairs, but he soon finds the dark attic is clearly empty.

Despite the low ceiling, Bucky can still stand tall.

The lights here are on but set low enough that they glow in soft, almost intimate amber.

The room is small. In its center, there is a low, round bed with no headboard, and, like in some hotels, there are mirrors on the ceiling above it, so that whoever uses the bed can watch the full show. Bucky frowns at the crumpled red sheets and the oddly arranged pillows. He takes a few cautious steps closer. Bracketing the bed, there is a dark wooden wardrobe on one wall, and an old dresser on the other. Something resting on its surface draws Bucky’s attention to it, and he goes to inspect it.

It’s Grant’s expensive computer. The lid is only half down, so Bucky pulls it open. It seems to be only on standby. Bucky tries a random key and the screen comes to life with grainy footage and loud, grotesque moaning.

Bucky takes an instinctive step back, startled. For a moment, he is paralyzed, and he can’t do anything but watch the two men in leather loudly going at it while one of them sort of hang from the ceiling-- Something snaps inside of Bucky and he hurriedly slams the laptop shut.

He walks backward, away from the dresser. He can’t take his eyes from the computer. Irrationally, part of Bucky thinks the porn might start playing again once he is not looking. So he keeps moving away, oblivious to where he is going and ends up losing his balance when his calves hit the bed. Bucky tumbles back straight onto the slightly damp sheets. He scurries away, disgusted, and in his haste, Bucky falls again, this time on the floor. His left elbow knocks on cold metal. Bucky sits up and turns around to see what it is.

It’s a small silver tray, the kind butlers use to bring people letters in the movies. But, instead of letters, this tray has white powder scattered all over it. Bucky gulps. He doesn’t need to get any closer to knowing what it is. And for the first time since he got here, Bucky feels scared.

As he stands up, Bucky notices he got some of the cocaine on his jacket when he fell on it. He does his best to brush it off.

He decides to inspect the wardrobe, even if by now _everything_ in him is screaming for Bucky to get the fuck away from this place. But he stubbornly continues to ignore reason, and open the double doors anyway. Inside, there are all kinds of kinky stuff, from toys to several expensive looking leather suits with zippers on the mouth.

“What the fuck?” Bucky mutters, bewildered.

He’s been in places like this before. People with rooms like this usually know exactly what they want. Sex for them is almost professional. And Grant, Grant hadn’t even known what the lube was _for._  That kind of inexperience can’t just be faked, can it? But Grant has a sex den in his house. Bucky shakes his head. None of this makes a single lick of sense. These aren’t odd pieces. This is a completely different puzzle.

Bucky’s eyes travel through the attic, as his brain tries to rationalize what he is seeing. He is missing something, he is sure of it. The whole room feels like a nightmarish version of Bucky’s past, or a funhouse mirror, distorting reality, but there is something specific here that doesn’t add up.

It takes a while, but Bucky finally gets it.

The laptop.

Grant came back for it. He wouldn’t go two days without it.

 _I have to buy a new battery_ , Grant’s voice plays back in Bucky’s mind.

Two things happen then. Bucky rushes to the computer and turns it around to get the battery off, just as somebody knocks on the front door.

“Police, open up!”

Bucky inspects the battery. Visibly, there’s nothing weird about it, but when he runs his fingers through it a small, flat plastic case falls from it. Bucky picks it up. The plastic is transparent and he can see the memory card inside of it.

The officer outside bangs on the door again.

Bucky stares at the memory card. Grant went through some trouble to hide this thing, but for some reason, he also wanted Bucky to know where to find it. Why?

Suddenly, Bucky gets a horrible feeling in his gut. His boyfriend didn’t ditch him because of Bucky’s past. He is missing. And he certainly did _not_ set this room up.

Moving on almost autopilot, Bucky puts the battery back in its place and does his best to clean off his fingertips from the laptop and any other part of the attic he remembers touching. As quick as he can, he gets down from the attic, closing it shut.

He eyes the card in its little compartment case again, and with a resigned sigh, put the thing in his mouth and swallows it dry.

Then Bucky opens the door for the police.

\---

Instead of a regular precinct, the officers take him to the SHIELD building.

Bucky is led to an interrogation room and left there to wait. The blank concrete walls seem to close in around him with each passing minute. He can’t keep his legs from bouncing, and Bucky is glad the table at least offers him some privacy to freak out from the waist down.

It feels like forever goes by until the door behind him finally opens, and a singsonging voice greets Bucky.

“My, oh, my,” says the person entering the room. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

Bucky instantly freezes.

His hands are already shaking by the time the Brock Rumlow sits in front of him.

“How you’ve been, _Bucky?”_

He takes the chair in front of Bucky -- setting a thin folder on the table between them -- and although his voice still sounds the same, Bucky is not quick enough to hide his surprise, and he lets out a small gasp when he sees Rumlow’s face. He looks worse than Bucky left arm.

His reaction doesn’t go unnoticed. Rumlow snarls. “Don’t fucking enjoy this.”

Bucky swallows hard, and he actually feels the memory card sliding further down his esophagus. He takes a moment to silently thank his lucky star he didn’t suffocate himself with the thing.

Rumlow clearly enjoys watching Bucky squirm. He grins -- shark-like, full of teeth -- and his skin pulls tightly against his skull, as he leans over the table. “You’re on real thin ice here, sweetheart.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Bucky protests, even though the sight of Rumlow, disfigured as he is, makes Bucky feel like an irresponsible teenager all over again.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

Bucky doesn’t understand. Why did the police bring him here? He studies Rumlow for a moment. Brock is dressed like a federal agent. Is he SHIELD? What does SHIELD have to do with any of this?

“Is this about Grant?” Bucky asks. He doesn’t trust Brock, but at least this is someone Bucky knows, someone who might give him answers. “He’s missing! He’s been missing for almost two weeks. I know I should have reported it, but I didn’t think--”

“Shut up,” Rumlow snaps. Bucky takes a deep breath to try to calm his heart. He closes his hands into tight fists so that Rumlow can’t see he is shaking. “You talk when I tell you to,” Rumlow says. “And _I_ make the fucking questions. You got that?” Rumlow is the worst kind of closet case, and Bucky has so much dirt on him, all he has to do is open his mouth -- he knows there are people watching them -- and Rumlow’s entire career would crumble right here and now. It’s not worth his life though, so Bucky just nods. “Great. Now, I want you to tell me everything you know about Grant.”

“He’s my partner,” Bucky starts. “He’s some kind of genius, went to university at fifteen.” Bucky bites at the inside of his cheek. “His parents are dead, and he doesn’t have any other family I know of.” He blushes easily. He rarely swears. He likes drawing, he snorts a little sometimes, but it’s more cute than annoying. Every now and then he dresses like he’s ninety, and he drives like an old lady. None of that is useful to the police, but they are parts of Grant Bucky carries in his heart. “And he works for an investment bank.”

Rumlow clicks his tongue as he shakes his head, making a show of looking disappointed. “If you want my help,” by the skin of his teeth, Bucky resists the urge to snort, “you gotta do better than this, Bucky. Now tell me the truth.”

“I just did.”

“Oh yeah,” Rumlow says. He opens the file and slides it towards Bucky. “Then who the fuck is this?”

Bucky frowns from the black and white picture of Grant in some kind of tactical gear to Rumlow’s scarred face. “Grant.”

“Your partner?”

“Yes,” Bucky confirms with a sigh.

“And what kind of relationship did you have with him?” There is a mean glint in his eyes. “Did it involve sadism? He smirks. Rumlow has as much on Bucky’s past as Bucky has on his. Bucky’s stomach churns. “Drugs?”

Bucky’s voice isn’t louder than a whisper. “No.”

“You see,” Rumlow says, “it’s kinda hard to believe you when you keep lying to me.” He points down at the photograph. “This is Steve Rogers. He doesn’t work for a bank, he’s a SHIELD agent. And I think you killed him.”


	3. STEVE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, the final chapter. I'm not sure many people have been following this, based on the number of comments I'd say very few, but regardless of that this story is now complete, in case anyone cares.  
> I keep writing these things because I love these characters, and I love writing about them, even though it seems I'm not that good at it. But they say practice makes perfect, so I guess I'll just keep on doing this even if no one but me really cares.

Bucky tried to break up with him once, a month or so after they got together. They had gone out one day and were leaving the restaurant. Grant -- _Steve_ \-- opened the door for him, and for a second Bucky had been a step behind him, and suddenly he could see abundantly clear how different they were. Grant’s expensive shirt stretched across the impressive muscles on his back, the coat on the crook of his arm cost more than Bucky’s entire outfit. His shoes were Italian. Bucky was wearing Clint’s socks.

It wasn’t like Grant -- Steve, _fuck_ , Steve-- had been doing something to deliberately make Bucky feel like shit, Bucky knew that; he’d snooped around Steve’s closet the first time he’d been to Steve’s house. Aside from his workout gear, that was the only kind of clothes he had.

By the time they had reached the street, Bucky had half made up his mind that Steve was with him because he felt he had to; because Bucky had been his first.

“Maybe--” Bucky had said as they made their way to the subway, “Maybe we should see other people.” Steve had given him a confused look, and Bucky tried to explain. “Maybe you _did_ rush into this.” He had to swallow down the lump in his throat. “Maybe you should--” Bucky hesitated then because Steve had tears in his eyes.

“I  don’t want to,” Steve had told him. He shook his head. “I don’t want anyone else.”

He had sounded so sincere.

Was that a lie?

Bucky is too afraid to open his mouth now. His head is spinning, and he is sure anything he says will be the wrong thing. Brock has all the cards here. “You were in a sadistic relationship with Rogers.” It’s not even a question. “And he didn’t want you to know who he really was, cos he was embarrassed.” Rumlow takes a lot of pleasure in telling Bucky that. He cocks his head like a curious dog. “Then what? Something went wrong during one of your _plays_?”

“What are you talking about?” Bucky asks quietly and slowly. Then he closes his mouth and starts to breathe only through his nose, mentally counting the ins and outs, like one of his shrinks taught him long ago. It’s supposed to help him stay calm. And now more than ever, Bucky needs to be able to keep his shit together.

Rumlow huffs, impatient. “You were never one of the sharpest tools, were you?” Bucky is afraid his teeth might crack with the force he is grinding them, but at least he manages to not fucking engage. “Well, I’ll spell it out for ya. You and Rogers had some sort of twisted,” Rumlow pauses to make air quotes, “ _relationship_ , and he didn’t trust you, so he gave you a fake name.” Bucky knows Rumlow is just trying to hurt him, to manipulate him for some reason. But the blows land anyway. “He’s gone for two weeks and you don’t tell anyone.”

Bucky averts his gaze. All this time, he thought Grant had just been avoiding him. Rumlow is right, Bucky _is_ stupid.

“Now,” Brock goes on, “You need to tell me what comes next. How d’ya get into the house?”

 _Somebody gave me a key_. It’s the truth but Bucky can’t say that. It would only raise more questions he can’t answer. _Who gave it to him?_ It wasn’t Grant -- _Steve_ , his brain supplies -- the envelope he received had  been addressed to _James_ , and Bucky doesn’t remember telling him his actual name, but then again, he _did_ admit to running a background check on Bucky, so it might not have been that hard for Steve to figure it out. _Fuck_. What the hell is going on? Without knowing what is safe to say, Bucky has no other alternative than to keep his mouth shut.

Rumlow is not deterred by his silence, though. He presses. “Where did you hide the body, Barnes?” _He isn’t dead_ , Bucky wants to say. Grant, Steve, whatever the fuck his name is, he is not gone, that doesn’t feel right. “I know it’s not in the sex den. We’ve searched. But given the signs of struggle in there--” Bucky’s wide eyes snap back up to Rumlow. There were no signs of struggle. However, Rumlow is smart, and he knows exactly what he is doing. “Oh, yeah, we know about your little playroom.” He gives the camera behind him an almost imperceptible nod.

Whoever is watching them is going to put Bucky’s surprise down to the fact they know what’s in the attic, and not because Rumlow is lying. With a smirk on his face, he opens the file again to take a few photographs from it. He displays them on the table in front of Bucky.

It’s the attic. However, it looks like a tornado hit it. The laptop is on the floor, so are the pillows and most of the stuff from the wardrobe. There are dark stains on the sheets. This is only the first picture. Another one is a close up of the tray with cocaine. The next photo makes Bucky’s heart skip a beat. It’s a bloody toenail, forcibly torn. Bucky has to swallow down the bile. He definitely can’t afford to throw up right now.

He looks up at Rumlow with horrified eyes as realization dawns on him. Whatever game he is playing now, Rumlow was the one who sent him the key; he did something to Grant -- _Steve_ , his name is Steve -- and he is going to frame Bucky for it.

 _God_ , it was probably Rumlow that Bucky saw when he went to drop his stupid passive-aggressive letter at the house’s mailbox. That letter is the reason, Bucky begins to realize, he is here now; because he saw someone in the house that day; because someone saw _him_.

“Rogers is a big guy,” Rumlow goes on, taking back the pictures, “so what did you do, huh? How d’ya take him down? Did you drug him?”

“No,” Bucky says, low and broken. It sounds like he is begging.

Rumlow slams his fist down on the table. “Stop lying! I know you have a history of substance abuse.” Bucky cannot cry in front of Rumlow. He cannot give him any more power. So he just looks away and hopes his eyes don’t look as shiny as they sting. Thankfully, Rumlow seems to be enjoying himself too much to notice. “One more thing,” he says, leaning over the table, and for some reason, lowering his voice. “Did you take anything from the house?” This time Bucky is quick to shake his head. “Did Rogers give you anything?” Bucky denies it again. Rumlow scoffs. “Forget it.” He stands up. “I’m wasting my time here. Why would anyone believe a junkie? Get up,” he barks.

Bucky does as he is told on shaky legs.

“James Buchanan Barnes, you are under--”

The door opens before Rumlow can say another word.

“This stops now,” commands the blind man in a suit.

“And who the fuck are you?”

“I’m Matthew Murdock,” the guys says. “I’m Mr. Barnes’ lawyer.”

Relief washes over Bucky so hard it threatens to knock him off his feet. He nods like an idiot, even though Murdock can’t see him before he finds his voice to say, “Yeah. He’s my lawyer. I want him here.”

Both Rumlow and the lawyer ignore him, entering into a heated argument about a bunch of legal stuff Bucky wouldn’t have understood even if he was paying attention. He tunes them out, though. His brain feels overworked and he is having trouble focussing on anything for more than a few seconds.

“Come on, Mr. Barnes,” Murdock beckons him sometime later. Bucky scurries to his side. “We’re leaving.”

“This isn’t over,” Rumlow says.

Murdock doesn’t contradict him or says anything, so Bucky finds it better to keep his own mouth shut as well.

“Thank you,” he mutters once they have put some distance between themselves and Brock.

But before Murdock can answer, a red-headed woman appears by their side. “Thanks, Matt,” she says, “I’ll take it from here.”

“Any time, Nat,” Murdock says. Then he simply turns around and walks away. Bucky glares at his back. What kind of lawyer just abandons his client? Nevermind the fact Bucky has yet to know who hired the guy.

The woman offers him a friendly smile, which to Bucky’s stressed out brain looks anything but.  “Hi, I’m Natasha Romanoff. I’m a friend of Steve’s, we work together.” _So does Brock Rumlow_ , Bucky thinks. She hooks a hand on the crook of Bucky’s arm and starts leading them to the door. “So you’re Rogers’ secret?”

 _Rogers_. Rumlow calls him that too. Bucky snorts. How many fucking names does this guy have? “You know,” Bucky comments, “when we met he told me his name was Joe.” _And now he might be dead, and the government thinks I killed him._

The Romanoff woman doesn’t bat an eye. “Makes sense.” She shrugs. “That’s his father’s name.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that,” Bucky says, feeling ten times more miserable -- if that’s even possible -- with this tiny fact. There’s so much he doesn’t know about Grant, _Steve_ , and now he might never get the chance to.

Romanoff gives his arm a reassuring squeeze. “Steve’s tough,” she says, her eyes go slightly softer then, “he’ll be alright.” The _if he isn’t already dead_ rings loudly between them.

They hit the street, and Bucky is ready to lose this woman, but she quickly realizes what’s in his mind and digs her, thankfully short, nails on his arm to keep him in place.

“Steve gave you something, didn’t he?” Her eyes search for the truth in Bucky’s. “He must have.” Romanoff reaches this conclusion without Bucky even opening his mouth. “He trusts you.”

Bucky scoffs. “He didn’t trust me with his own name,” he says. “What makes you think he would have given me anything?” Even as he asks it, he can practically feel the memory card in its plastic case on its way to the bottom of his stomach. Bucky swallows hard. He shouldn’t trust this woman. She works with Rumlow. This could be a trap.

“He does,” Romanoff insists. “Steve’s been loyal to SHIELD since he was fifteen. There’s got to be a good reason for him to betray them.” _Them_ , not us. Is Romanoff not an agent as well?

Bucky has no idea, and frankly, he doesn’t care. He is done being played around for today. He rips his arm away from her clutch. “I don’t know,” he says, frustrated. “I obviously don’t know him at all.” His eyes sting. He thought -- Bucky shakes his head to try to clear it. His brain, desperate to find some reason in all of this, latches onto the most unimportant detail. “How did he even know what SHIELD was at fifteen?”

“Because SHIELD saved his life.”

Bucky frowns. “ _Why?_ ”

Romanoff sighs. She grabs his arm again and starts walking, giving Bucky no other alternative than keep pace. “Because of his father.” She doesn’t look at him as she speaks. Instead, she points out places and leans against him as if they were a couple of tourists. “As far as I know he wasn’t an agent, but he did die saving the life of the man who is now the director of SHIELD.”  Her eyes meet his again when they stop at a traffic light. “After his death, Steve and his mother had to move to a shitty neighborhood. His mother got sick, Steve got sicker. She didn’t make it, but thanks to a bunch of experimental treatments SHIELD could at least save Steve.”

Bucky has to close his eyes for a moment. Unless their whole time together has been an elaborated lie, he knows where this is going. “He thinks he owes his life to these people.” And Steve is way too proud to leave a debt unpaid. They cross the street in silence. Then Bucky looks back at Romanoff. “Why did they put him in college at fifteen?”

“Well, SHIELD would never pass the opportunity to have an actual genius working for them.” She smirks. “Steve is like, _really_ smart.”

“Wrong,” Bucky says angrily. “He’s really stupid. He let you people manipulate him into doing your dirty work, whatever that is. And you fucking made him feel grateful for it.” Once more he tries to put some distance between himself and Romanoff. “He’s an artist, you know that?” Romanoff looks at him confused. Bucky takes the opportunity to step away. “No, you don’t. Because that part of him is not interesting to you.”

“I’m more than SHIELD,” she tries to defend herself. “I’m not representing them. I care about Steve.”

“I don’t give a fuck who you are,” Bucky spats, walking backward and away from her. “Just stay the fuck away from me.”

\---

Bucky is a couple of blocks away from SHIELD when a black car slows to an almost halt on the curb beside him. He keeps his eyes straight ahead and tries his best to walk normally. Still, he nearly jumps out of his skin when the passenger in the back seat lowers the window and calls his name. Everything in Bucky is ready to literally run away when his brain recognizes the voice.

Dum Dum.

“Stop the car,” Dum Dum tells his driver. Then he turns to Bucky. “Get in, kid.”

All of Bucky’s energy seems to leave his body as he drops on the seat next to Dugan. He closes his eyes and gives his heart a few seconds to recover. Once he feels less like he needs to fight or flight, Bucky opens his eyes again, only to find Dum Dum staring at him with concern.

“Grant lied to me,” he tells Dugan. “His name is Steve and he lied to me about everything.” Dugan sighs. He presses the button to close the partition between them and the driver. He doesn’t look the least bit surprised. “You already knew.”

“I didn’t know _him_ , personally, no,” Dugan explains. “But I’ve heard of him. I’ve seen his profile. You have to understand, Bucky. I’ve been with SHIELD for many years. There isn’t much that I don’t know about it. Rogers worked special ops. Lots of secret stuff.” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, kid. I just couldn’t tell you.”

“I understand,” Bucky mutters, even though they can both see he doesn’t.

Dugan pats his knees.

“Bucky, SHIELD is worried you might have taken something from Rogers’ house,” he says. If Dugan is aiming for casual he is failing miserably. Then again, he is not aware he is actually the third person to ask Bucky that question in the past hour. And for the first time since they met, Bucky doesn’t trust him. “As I told you, his work was very sensitive.”

“I didn’t take anything.”

“And did he give you anything?”

“Why would he do that?”

Dum Dum’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “You’re right.” He chuckles. “Why would he do that, indeed. Stupid old brain.” He reaches around and opens the door for Bucky. Bucky hadn’t even noticed the car had stopped. “Go, get some rest. And don’t worry about any of this. I’ll take care of it.”

Bucky wants to ask him how he is supposed to not worry when SHIELD itself is ready to fabricate evidence to make it look like he killed Steve. Bucky looks at his friend now, and he can’t help wondering how Dugan fits in all of this. After all, he said it himself, nothing goes under his radar inside SHIELD.

“Thanks for the ride,” Bucky says as he gets out of the car. He shuts the door, and then before he leaves, he remembers something and turns back to look at Dum Dum. “The lawyer. Was that you?”

“We had to move fast,” Dugan says. His smile is genuine now. “Let’s just be grateful Ms. Romanoff is full of friends in the right places.”  

Dugan bids him goodbye, but Bucky finds he no longer has the strength to pretend he is not falling apart today.

The elevator is working when he enters the building. However, Bucky eyes its enclosed space with distrust. He is almost certain that, if he steps inside, another SHIELD agent is going to drop from the ceiling to ask him about Steve. So he takes the stairs, and it’s immensely relieved he doesn’t meet with anyone else on his way up.

Bucky inspects his front door before coming in. He runs his fingers over the dents left by the intruder. The break-in makes sense now, and the realization is like cold water on Bucky’s spine. He gets in and heads straight to his bedroom. He stops at the threshold and takes it all in. Somebody went through his things in search of _something_ , probably the thing Bucky now has to extract from inside his body.

He suddenly feels unsafe in his own home.

For the next two hours, Bucky carefully checks every inch of his bedroom. He has no idea what exactly it is that he is looking for. Nevertheless, he exhales, tired and relieved when he finds nothing out of the ordinary. Some more time goes by until he puts everything back in its place, and his bed is still a lost cause, but Bucky feels less shitty anyway.

He checks out the bathroom too, for good measure. And once he is satisfied, Bucky turns on the little old radio they keep by the sink, and goes about doing what he has to do to retrieve the memory card.

\---

Bucky lazily blows out smoke as he studies the memory card, twiddling it between his fingers. It looks like the kind you use it in digital cameras. So perhaps it’s full of pictures. It might even be just more of Steve’s porn. Twelve hours ago, Bucky might have believed that. As he stands now, he knows the whole attic was staged, to fuck with Steve’s image and frame Bucky.

He puts the card on his belly, so he can take the cigarette from his mouth. The mattress is uncomfortable as all hell beneath him, but Bucky will take it over whatever SHIELD had in mind for him to spend the night. He puts the cigarette on the saucer he has been using as an ashtray. Maybe the card doesn’t even work. Maybe Bucky’s ruined it. He licks the nicotine off his lips. Maybe Steve is already dead. Bucky stares at the ceiling as if it could provide him with an answer, an insight, anything really.

For Bucky’s complete surprise, it actually does.

Steve is still alive. If he was dead, there would be a body, and Bucky would be in jail right now.  Somebody kidnapped him. The worst thing is that Bucky can’t go to the police with this, he’s waited too long, plus SHIELD has already targeted him as a suspect. He is going to have to find Steve on his own.

Bucky sits up so fast he gets a little dizzy.

Maybe he won’t have to do this alone.

“Kate,” he cries as he hurries out of the bedroom, “Clint!”

“What? Where is he?” A noise comes from Clint’s room, and the next thing Bucky knows Barton is swinging a bat as he comes into the living room. “Come at me, fucker!”

Bucky ducks away just in time to avoid getting hit. “The hell, Barton?”

“Aw, I thought someone had broken in again.”

“Clint, put that thing down,” Kate commands as she joins them, “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Bucky gives her an indignant look from behind Clint’s bat. It’s not his own head Clint almost bashed in. But there are more pressing matters now, so lets it slide and waits for them to settle down -- the bat safely behind the couch, and far from any heads -- to approach the subject.

“Okay,” Kate says, once all is quiet, “what happened?”

“Grant’s real name is Steve,” Bucky starts.

“Wait,” Clint says, raising his hand like he is still in school, and needs permission to speaks. Bucky rolls his eyes, but tells him to go on anyway. “Isn’t Grant the real name? You know, after _Joe_ was the fake one.”

“Yeah, about that... Steve is the _real_ real name. Apparently.” He shakes his head. “But that doesn’t matter now. He’s in trouble.” Bucky does his best to summarize everything he knows about Steve’s disappearance and SHIELD’s involvement in it. When he is done, he takes the memory card from his pocket, and shows it to his friends. “I’m pretty sure whoever took him is after this. And,” he bites his lips, “I think they’re gonna kill him if they don’t get it soon.”

“Bucky, this is really serious,” Kate says. She is absently wringing her hands on her lap. “Are you sure we can’t go to the police?”

With a huff, Bucky drops down on the couch between them. “I wish we could. But SHIELD would just turn everything on me.”

“So, SHIELD is dirty then,” Clint asks.

“I think so. I mean, Rumlow definitely is, but I don’t know anything about Romanoff.” _And if I find that can’t trust Dum Dum it will probably destroy my ability to trust ever again,_ Bucky thinks. He looks down at the memory card. “I need to know what’s in this thing.” He glances at Clint and Kate. “Any of you guys have a digital camera?”

“Sure,” Kate says, “I use it every day. Then I upload my photos to MySpace because it’s 2007.” Bucky rolls his eyes, but he is not about to dignify that with an answer. He _does_ elbow Clint in the ribs to make him stop laughing, though. And once they have quiet down Kate continues, “Anyway, I think that might fit into the slot on my laptop. Hang on, I’ll go get it,” she tells them, before unfolding herself from the sofa, and disappearing down the corridor.

She comes back a moment later with her beat-up Dell, and plugs it on the nearest outlet before sitting down on the floor, resting her back on the couch. When the system finishes booting Bucky hands her the card, and he and Clint hunch over her shoulder to watch the screen.

Kate pops open the casing. And she is just about to take the memory card out of it, when Clint scares the life out of both of them -- again -- with a shout.

“Stop!” Bucky and Kate turn to glare at him. Clint brings his hands up in surrender. “Don’t put it in.”

“Why?”

“Okay,” Clint says, slowly lowering his hands. “Bear with me for a sec here… but I saw this thing in a movie once--”

“Aw, Barton,” Bucky complains.

“No, no," Clint insists, “hear me out. So, in this movie. The guy has this flash drive, he stole from some other dudes. And the moment he plugs the thing into his computer, it sends out his location to the people he stole it from. Then they come for him,” he winces, “and they kill his _dog_. Oh, no, wait a minute… that’s another movie. Whatever, man. You get it, right?”

Bucky sighs. “Yeah, you’re right.” The last thing he wants now is to put his friends in danger because of him. He extends his hand, and Kate puts the memory card on his palm. “I’ll find another way.” 

Kate places a hand on his knee. She smiles, looking up at him with sympathetic eyes. “I’m sorry, Bucky.”

Bucky acknowledges her with a nod. He closes his fingers around the memory card, and brings it up to clutch it against his heart. This tiny thing is the only leverage Bucky has against the people holding Steve. _Steve_. The name rolls off easy now, and it actually suits him better, now that Bucky stops to think about it. He closes his eyes and squeezes the card hard over his chest again. This here is the only connection between the two of them. Bucky needs to find a way to see what’s inside of it _fast_  if he wants to have any chance of saving Steve.

\---

A SHIELD agent comes for him three days later. She patiently waits for Bucky to get dressed while doing her level best to pretend Kate is not glaring daggers at her and muttering curses under her breath. The agent is nice enough Bucky doesn’t offer any resistance despite how fast his heart is beating, and willingly goes along when she opens the back door of the car to let him in.

“Am I being arrested?” She didn’t really explain anything apart from telling Bucky he had to go with her when she knocked at his door, and although he had no say in it, she also didn’t handcuff him, so he is a little confused.

“No,” she answers curtly, looking at him through the rearview mirror. “Questioning.”

By the time they get to SHIELD Rumlow is already waiting for him.

Bucky is taken to the same room as before. And as Brock takes the seat in front of him, Bucky feels his airways constrict; objectively, he knows it’s psychological, but he still feels like he can barely breathe. _This is it_ , he thinks, they are going to tell him that they have found Steve’s body and that Bucky’s DNA was all over him. Cold sweat breaks throughout his skin, and once again Bucky has to strain to hear any of the legal stuff being said over the rush of blood in his ears. When he tunes back in all eyes are on him.

“What?”

“Are you high?” Rumlow asks.

“No,” Bucky says meekly. “I’m sorry, I--” he turns his pleading eyes to the agent who brought him here. “What’s going on?”

“SHIELD has found some evidence,” She patiently explains. “It seems to tie you to Rogers’ disappearance.”

Bucky swallows hard as he looks back at Rumlow, who is staring at him like is just waiting for Bucky to break. He is desperate, Bucky realizes. Whatever is in the memory card someone in this building wants it badly. Whatever it is, they don’t want people to see it.

“Your DNA is all over the attic,” Rumlow announces.

“I _was_ there,” he agrees. “Once,” Bucky adds urgently. “The day the police came, that was the first time, that was the _only_ time.” He holds Rumlow’s eyes, defiant, even though he is scared. “And I don’t think Steve set the room either.”

“You sure about that?” Rumlow asks smugly. “Because it seems to me you didn’t know Rogers from Adam.” He crosses his arms over his chest. His scarred face looks even worse when he smirks. “Perhaps you got mad when you found out he was getting off with other people--” He places a recording device on the table between them. “And he didn’t even invite you to join him,” Rumlow says before pressing play.

 _I posted an ad online_...

Bucky’s voice echoes through the walls, making his ears ring. “How,” he breathes out.

“The house Rogers lived in--” Rumlow starts, speaking over Bucky’s recorded voice, using past tense on purpose, to get under Bucky’s skin. And _fuck_ , Bucky thinks, Rumlow is definitely getting the job done. Bucky wants to either scream or cry. He is beginning to feel claustrophobic in this windowless room as its walls seem to be slowly closing around him. He needs to get out of here. “The car, the phone, it’s all SHIELD. Everything said in those places is recorded.  Rogers knew that.”

Bucky opens his mouth to protest, but before he can get so much as a word out, Rumlow cuts off the recording. “Get out,” he tells the agent who brought Bucky in.

“Sir?”

“Out,” he barks, “now!” He waits for the woman -- Bucky realizes he didn’t even get her name -- to reluctantly comply to his orders before turning his full attention back to Bucky.

“We had that conversation in my bedroom,” Bucky says. Not even his roommates were home that night. They were alone. Bucky gulps. And somebody was listening to them. It dawns on him that it wasn’t his letter that led SHIELD to him, not initially anyway. They have probably been after Steve for some time now. But why?

Rumlow shrugs. “It’s your word against, well, your word, I guess.”

Bucky shakes his head. “What the hell are you saying,” he asks angrily. It has taken a lot of time for Bucky to scrub Rumlow off his mind. He is not going to let him in again. He curls his fingers into a tight fist and punches the table. “You’ve been fucking stalking us, you fucking creep!”

With a deafening screech, Rumlow pushes his chair back from the table and stands up. And the next thing Bucky knows he is being pulled to his feet, and pushed up against the wall. Rumlow holds him in place with a hand on his chest. “I did you a little favor,” he whispers on Bucky face, “and erased some of this shit show.” Bucky knows exactly which part Rumlow wouldn’t want it to be heard. He struggles against Rumlow to no avail. “But you breathe a word of this to anyone else and I’ll finish what I started.”

The door opens behind them and Rumlow instantly drops him as he takes a step back.

Bucky leans against the wall for support and lets out a sigh of relief when he sees Romanoff at the threshold. “You’re being called upstairs.” She addresses Rumlow, not sparing a single glance to Bucky. “Pierce’s office,” Romanoff adds. “Now.”

“SHIELD will be monitoring you, Mr. Barnes,” Rumlow says, glaring at Bucky as he leaves the room. “There is no way out.” He stops at the door. “You should confess now.”

Bucky hugs his left arm and focuses on a point behind Rumlow’s head. He tries to regulate his breathing so that his voice won’t come out so shaky. “I didn’t do anything,” he says quietly as he absently scratches at his arm.

Rumlow huffs. “I’ll be the judge of that,” he says before leaving him alone with Romanoff.

“I think you should go now,” Romanoff says.

Bucky blinks at her. He had almost forgotten she was there. “You know, somebody rented  an apartment in the building in front of mine a few weeks ago.” He looks down at his arms as he tells her. Once again he feels like he is watching himself from the outside rather than living this moment. He stops scratching his left arm when he feels his nails break the skin. “I thought it was weird because that place is a piece of crap. But whoever it was, they only stayed there for a couple of days.” Enough to get Bucky on record as he spilled out the worst part of his life. He looks up. “Don’t you think that’s weird?”

She narrows her eyes at him, probably not getting what he is trying to say. “Go home, James,” she repeats, sounding more sympathetic now.

Bucky nods. He walks past her silently. This is the second time she comes to his aid, and yet, Bucky still doesn’t feel like he can trust anyone from this building.

\---

The knowledge that someone had been spying on him shakes Bucky to his goddamn core. And it’s a bit astonishing really, how quickly he has grown used to looking over his shoulder. Especially now that he has confirmation that SHIELD has been watching him. Bucky can practically feel its eyes on his back every time he leaves the apartment. So far, he has managed to completely avoid Dugan, ignoring his calls, and canceling on their lunches in the park. Even though it pains Bucky to do it, he remains wary of anything SHIELD. Better safe than sorry, as his ma used to say.

Bucky also tries his hardest to make sure Kate and Clint are always safe. He even went as far as suggesting they should spend some time at other friends’ houses, but they are both stubborn mules and vehemently refused to even let Bucky finish the thought.

“We stick together,” Clint had said, after throwing a dirty sock at Bucky’s head, of course. And if Bucky got a little emotional about the whole thing, well, no one needs to know.

And as it turns out, besides the awesome display of friendship, Barton’s movie watching skills also proved themselves to be useful again. After he remembered more of the movie with the flash drive, Clint gave Bucky the idea of going to an Apple store in the mall and using one of the displayed computers to open the memory card.

Since Kate has to work, Bucky and Clint go alone. They choose the furthest mall from home and take several buses to get there. Bucky complains the whole time -- because he wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t -- but Clint insists it’s the best way to lose their tail, if they have one, that is. Bucky tells him he is going to raise Clint’s rent if it doesn’t work, but Bucky can’t stay mad long, not when he is hit with the full force of Clint Barton’s pout.

When they get to the store, Clint distracts the salesman that comes to talk to them and Bucky beelines to the laptops in the back. He glances around to make sure no one’s looking at him, before taking the memory card from his jacket pocket. Bucky takes it out of the case with less than steady fingers. Then he plugs it in the laptop.

A small window immediately comes up on the screen, offering several options off apps to open the card’s content. Bucky clicks on the last one to simply open the folder. Two things happen at the same time then: First, the folder opens, and a second later another window suddenly blinks in and out of the screen, too fast for Bucky to see what it was. He gets a bad feeling about it anyway. Somehow he knows he has to hurry up.

The card is full of stuff. There are Word documents, some PDFs files, pictures, and videos. There is too much for Bucky to open them one by one. He clicks in one of the first Word documents, but when it opens it’s in German and Bucky can’t read a thing. He checks a few others but none of them seem to be in fucking English. Bucky inspects his surroundings again, and his eyes briefly land on Clint, still talking to the poor guy who asked if he needed any help. Nobody is paying attention to him, but Bucky is wary of opening any of the photos or videos. It could be more of the hardcore porn he found on Steve’s laptop. Bucky doesn’t want to risk being kicked out of the store or worse, but he has no other option.

He holds his breath as his finger hovers over the trackpad.

“Here goes nothing,” Bucky mutters before clicking to open the image. However, what he sees at first makes very little sense to him. It’s an old, black and white picture of people saluting a flag with a skull with tentacles in it. “What the hell is this?” Bucky frowns at it for a couple of seconds, but the picture might as well be a dead end, so clicks the arrow on the bottom to go to the next one. There is more of the skull thing, but the pictures get progressively closer to this day and age as Bucky goes through them. Some of them are clearly pictures of dead bodies, and Bucky quickly skips those.

He tries to make sense of what he is seeing. Dum Dum told him Steve works in special ops, so this must be part of something he is investigating. But the photos are meaningless to him, so he goes back to try and find a file he can read. A few failed attempts later, he hits jackpot.

The first file Bucky finds in English is some sort of report. It’s over sixty pages long and he does _not_ have the time for that, so he skims over it to see if he can at least get the gist of it. The name Hydra pops up a bunch of times. So does SHIELD. As he makes his way down the document, Bucky breaks into a nervous sweat.  

“Holy. Shit.” No wonder SHIELD has been going out of its way to get this thing back.

“What is it?” Clint asks as he materializes by Bucky’s side. “Bucky? You’re really pale right now, man. What happened? What did you find?”

Bucky looks up at him. He might have gotten this wrong. It is completely possible he did not read that right, he doesn’t understand this kind of thing. He’s not a spy. Somehow though, he knows he is not wrong. He quickly closes the window and ejects the card. If Clint is right about the tracking signal, they have already lingered here for longer than it’s safe.

“They’re Nazis,” Bucky whispers. He grabs Clint’s arm and starts to march the two of them away. “We have to go.”

“Wait,” Clint says as he stumbles to follow Bucky’s pace. “What?”

“They’re Nazis,” Bucky repeats urgently. “The people Steve was investigating -- probably the ones who took him.” He is lowkey freaking out, so he tightens his grip on Clint to move faster. “There are fucking Nazis inside SHIELD.”

\--

As they leave the store, Bucky does the math. Steve is obviously not a Nazi since he is the one investigating them. Brock, on the other hand, is definitely Hydra. He fabricated evidence to incriminate Bucky and screw with Steve’s image. As for Romanoff, he still can’t tell, but if Bucky has to guess, he wouldn’t put her in the same boat as Rumlow, not after she’s helped him twice now. And then there is Dum Dum. Bucky lets out a relieved breath. Dum Dum, a gay man son of a gypsy mother, who fought tooth and nail to be where he is today, and not have to hide. Bucky closes his eyes for a second, and silently thank god. Timothy Dugan would rather die than sign up with these people. Bucky has never been happier to be proven wrong.

Unfortunately, his happiness has a short life, and it withers away when Bucky spots Rumlow on the opposite escalator, going up as they go down. Bucky mumbles a curse under his breath and positions himself on Clint’s back, hugging him from behind and putting his hands inside the front pocket of Clint’s hoodie. He tells Barton to play along, and rests his forehead on Clint’s shoulder, letting his hair fall down and cover his face in the process.

“Could’ve bought me dinner first, ya know?” Clint says.

“The guy with the face,” Bucky says quietly,  slightly nodding at the other escalator, “that’s Rumlow.”  

“Holy shit,” Clint says. Bucky has no idea what he is seeing, but he hopes to god he is being discreet and not openly staring at Rumlow’s scarred face.

They make the rest of the way in silence. Bucky dislodges himself from Clint as they leave the escalator, and waits to speak once they have put some distance between themselves and Rumlow.

“We have to get out of here,” he says, chancing a quick look back. Brock is no longer visible. “He is definitely not alone.”

Clint has no objections to this so they both start walking faster.

“I can’t believe you fucked a Nazi.”

Bucky sighs. Thankfully they are almost out of the mall by now. “Believe me, I did a _lot_ of stupid shit with my life--” Clint knows some of it, even though Bucky never opened up to him like he did with Steve.  “And that’s still my biggest regret.”

“His face,” Clint asks once they are finally outside, “was that the accident?” Bucky shakes his head. He has no idea what happened to Rumlow, but he sure as hell is glad he wasn’t with him when it did. “Must be karma, then,” Clint adds. And Bucky can’t help but agree.

\---

When they get back to the apartment, hours later because this time there was an actual reason to be extra careful to not be followed, they find that Kate is not alone.

“Hello, James,” Natasha Romanoff says from where she is bleeding out on their sofa.

Kate looks up with eyes that say Bucky will fucking _hear_ something if Romanoff dies in their living room. “We have company.”

Clint, however, surprises all of them by immediately springing into action. He runs to the bathroom and back in record time, returning with a small first-aid box Bucky honestly didn’t even know they had until now. Then Clint kneels down on the floor in front of Romanoff, and starts taking stuff out of the box as he fires up about a million questions. “Are you okay? How long have you been bleeding? Were you shot? Stabbed? Should we take you to a hospital?” He turns his frantic eyes to Kate. ‘How long has she been here? Why didn’t you call an ambulance?”

“She’s not dying,” Natasha says. Nonetheless, she groans as she takes her hand off the oozing wound on her shoulder to accept Clint’s gauze. “And she can answer for herself.”

“She got here like five minutes before you guys,” Kate explains, staring at Romanoff with open distrust. “Told me she was a friend of your lying boyfriend.” Bucky hears her just fine, but for a moment, all he can do is stare at the image before his eyes, not quite believing this is his actual life. That is, of course, until Kate breaks the spell by shouting out his name. He blinks at her. “Say something!”

He gapes at her, like a fish out of water, for a second or two before finding his voice. “Uh, sh--she can stay.” He finally looks at Romanoff in the eyes. “If you need to.”

Natasha nods. “Thank you,” she says, holding his gaze. “Everyone I know is currently trying to kill me,” she tells them.

“Not everyone,” Clint corrects her, “you’re safe here.”

Kate frowns at him. “Do you know this woman?” It might have come across as petty jealousy if Bucky hadn’t known how protective Kate is of the two of them. She would fight Natasha Romanoff with her bare hands if she saw the need to protect Bucky and Clint. She told Bucky once not many people had been nice to her growing up, and so she promised herself she would do anything for the ones who gave a crap. And really, Bucky gets it. He would do the same for them. He studies Natasha, and he is suddenly sure Steve would do the same for her.

“No,” Clint says, “but she needs our help.” He asks Natasha’s permission, and waits for her to grant it before he starts cleaning some of the cuts on her face.

“Steve would help,” Bucky says.

Leave it to Barton to break the heavy silence Bucky’s words left in their wake.

“So,” he drawls, “should we call that ambulance?”

“No,” Natasha and Bucky say at the same time. But when Bucky closes his eyes, she continues, “I took the bullet out, just need some help sewing the wound.” Clint immediately volunteers and she accepts his help with a small, tired grin.

“SHIELD did this, didn’t they. They think you’re dead,” Bucky asks while Clint and a little less reluctant Kate patch Natasha up. Bucky, with basically only one useful hand, goes to the kitchen and brings back a glass of water.

“I don’t know,” Natasha answers, accepting the water. “But SHIELD is a mess right now. Somebody tried to kill the director. And they are saying Steve is a traitor.”

“You don’t believe them?”

“Steve is not the one trying to kill me,” she simply says.

“He might be though,” Clint says, but he falters a little under Natasha’s glare. “I mean, given the circumstances, uh--” He looks up at Bucky for help. “Tell her what we found.”

By the time Bucky is done telling what happened, Kate has run out of curse words, and Natasha has gone eerily quiet.

Clint’s hand hovers over her knee, unsure if he can touch her or not; concern written all over his face. “Are you okay?”

His voice takes Natasha out of her stupor, but is not enough to take the haunted look off her face. However, she ignores him and turns to Kate. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Sure,” Kate says. “Come on, I’ll show it to you.”

Natasha bites down on her lips and doesn’t make a sound as she slowly heaves herself from the sofa. She neither accepts nor refuses Clint’s extended hand, so he stays where he is. Once Kate and Romanoff have disappeared down the corridor, he turns to Bucky. “Do you think she’s alright?”

Bucky can barely imagine how it must feel, to have the rug yanked from under your feet like that. People like Natasha -- like _Steve_ \-- live for their work. And to find out they have been sort of working for the enemy all along? That must sting. “No,” he tells Clint, “I don’t think so.”

\---

Natasha borrows a pair of sweatpants from Kate and t-shirt from Clint, which she will probably drown in, but she seems okay with and tells it looks very comfortable. She takes a long shower, but none of them has the heart to hurry her up. Kate orders pizza as they wait for her to come out of the bathroom.

Surprising absolutely no one -- not even Natasha, who just met him -- Clint is the only one who actively eats, and not just picks at random slices of pepperoni. Kate plays with her food for a while before bidding them goodbye and heading to the bar where she works every other day. And Bucky is too busy watching Romanoff to feel even remotely hungry.

Natasha stares at the pizza in front of her as if it could provide her with answers. Judging by the scowl on her face, it hasn’t told her anything yet.

At some point, after Kate left, she gives up and slides her plate over to Clint. Barton thankfully refrains from any declarations of love, but just barely, though he has absolutely no control over the fucking heart eyes he is sending her way.

 _Get a grip,_ Bucky mouths to him.

But Clint doesn’t. He never could.

“You can have my room,” he blurts. Natasha looks up at him with a puzzled expression. “If you’re gonna stay here you can sleep in my room. I’ll take the couch.”

“I -- okay.”

“Come on,” says Clint, standing up, “I’ll help you settle in.”

Bucky makes himself busy tidying up the kitchen for a few minutes, as he waits for Clint to finally come back from his bedroom to go and have some time alone with Romanoff.

He finds her sitting, ramrod straight on the edge of Clint’s bed. She is barefoot, and, though Bucky can’t say why, it gives her a vulnerability he hasn’t seen in her until now. He knows she is aware of his presence, but he still knocks lightly on the open door before coming in.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says, slowly approaching her. “Must suck --” he gives an awkward shrug, “finding out you’re sort of working for the enemy.”

It feels like a small eternity until she looks at him. “Grant is his middle name,” Natasha tells him.

And for a moment, Bucky has no idea what she is talking about. Then it hits him. Steve. Bucky has to hold back the snort. She is going to talk about Steve to avoid talking about whatever is going on in her head right now, and if that isn’t the most _Steve_ thing Bucky has ever seen, he doesn’t know what it is. It’s like they are two slightly different versions of the same person. Bucky lets her have this because if she _is_ at all like Steve, pressing her will get him nothing.

“But he doesn’t go by it,” Bucky asks instead, “does he?”

“Nope,” she says, popping the p in her mouth before allowing it to morph into a small smirk. However, Bucky doesn’t have it in him to return it. He is about to turn around and leave her be when she speaks again, “Steve hates lying, he never wanted to keep things from you.”

Bucky bites back on the nasty response, and swallows down the _but he did it anyway,_ instead, he gives voice to the little flame of hope still burning inside of him. “He talks about me?”

“Well, to be honest, I think he shares more of this part of him with Sam than me, but yeah, he does.”

“The friend from DC?”

“See, he must really love you. Steve’s very protective of Sam.”

Bucky’s shoulders sag a little in relief, but he doesn’t want Natasha to see that so he just plays with sarcasm. “Good to know _that’s_ not a lie.”

“He didn’t really tell you that many,” Natasha replies. “And you know now, why he lied.” She narrows her eyes at him. “I think maybe you just don’t want to understand it. He was protecting you, James. From the very thing that’s happening right now.” Bucky hugs his left arm, protectively, as his mind goes back to Brock Rumlow. His discomfort doesn’t go unnoticed. “What is it, James?”

“Were you watching, when Rumlow was interrogating me?”

“No. I was pulling all sort of strings to get you out of there,” she explains, “after Dugan got a word you’d been brought in. Why?”

“Fuck. _Fuck_!” Bucky runs a shaky hand through his greasy hair. He can’t believe he is only putting this together now. Restless, he begins to pace as his mind starts to piece together all the information he’s gathered until now.

Natasha stands up; Bucky’s agitation rubbing off on her. “What is it?”

“Shit! Bucky stops so that he can properly stare at her. “He knows where Steve is! I was so freaked out that I didn’t even think! He said I killed Steve!”

“That doesn’t prove anything.”

“Of course, it fucking does! He fabricated evidence--”

“What evidence?” Bucky tells her. “But-- there’s no body.” The way she says it is almost like she trying to convince herself more than Bucky. She stops then, as she makes some sort of math in her mind. Bucky waits. He doesn’t have to wait long. “They are keeping him.”

“To find the information he stole,” Bucky concludes.

“Yeah, but they don’t have to anymore. SHIELD doesn’t know who to trust now,” Natasha tells him, “but neither does Hydra.” She hesitates for a moment, before finally making up her mind and looking at him. “I’m going to need your help, James. I told you, SHIELD is upside down, whatever Steve knows won’t matter for long. I don’t think he has much time.”

\---

They come up with a plan. It’s horrible, Bucky knows his friends will hate it, but he is desperate, and time to think things through is just not a luxury he has at the moment. He does secretly hope Natasha has a bunch of back up plans she has decided not to share with him, and that will totally save the day, but he is not really counting on it. For now, this will have to do.

“You’re gonna go after Rumlow,” Clint asks is disbelief at the same time that Kate simply says:

“ _Bucky_.”

“It’s the best option we have,” Bucky explains. “We need to get to Steve soon, and Rumlow knows where he is.”

Kate and Clint take a synchronized breath as they share an entire conversation through a look before they turn back to Bucky. “Fine,” they say in unison. Then Kate adds, “but we’re going with you.”

Bucky is really touched by their words. He fucking love this two so goddamn much. He can’t believe they would risk their lives for somebody Bucky cares about. He is just about to thank them when Natasha shakes her head.

“I’m sorry,” she tells them. Bucky doesn’t know if she caught any sleep over night but she looks tired. “I can’t protect all of you at once. I’ll need to focus on James.” She is nice enough not to say Kate and Clint would be a distraction, but they all hear it anyway. Bucky takes a quick glance at them. They are ready to fight back, even Clint, who hasn’t stopped looking at Natasha with heart eyes. However, Romanoff is not done. “There’s something  else you can do, though.”

She tells them what she has in mind and they are both immediately on board, even though they still don’t like that Bucky will have to face Rumlow, Kate and Clint accept Natasha’s task.

“Alright, then,” Bucky announces, now that they are all on the same page. “Let’s get my boyfriend back.”

\---

The first step of their plan requires Bucky to swallow his damn pride, and fish some of those good manners his ma instilled in him from the depths of his conscience. That is, the first part of their plan is going to Dugan, and also hope to god he still has access to SHIELD, or at the very least, some weapons for Romanoff.

Bucky is apprehensive as he waits for the door to open for them. Dum Dum could go tell him to go fuck himself for being an ungrateful bastard. He could already be dead, killed by a fucking Nazi, in which case Bucky would never forgive himself for ignoring his calls, or even going as far as considering Dum Dum could be a traitor. _Jesus!_ What a mess! Bucky is freaking out a little when the door swings open and a very much alive Dugan wearing a robe, pajama pants, and fluffy slippers, scowls at him.

“It is _way_ too early, kid,” Dum Dum complains, even though he steps aside to let them in. “Ms. Romanoff.”

“Dugan,” Natasha greets back at the same time Bucky says:

“I thought old people were all up before the sun.”

“I’ve woken up early my entire life, Bucky,” Dugan says as he leads them to the living room. “It’s high time I had some of those extra hours.” He leaves Bucky and Natasha alone for a moment, before coming back with coffee and biscuits. “That is, of course,” he continues as he severs them, “when people don’t interrupt me with nonsense like -- why is it that you’re  here again?”

“SHIELD is full of Nazis,” Natasha tells him.

“And they have Steve,” Bucky adds.

Dum Dum hums, processing the information while he stirs the sugar in his coffee. He doesn’t seem as surprised as Bucky thought he would be. “That’d be Hydra, I suppose.” Bucky nods. “Yeah, they had a saying, back in the day, something about if you cut one head two other will grow in its place.” He sips his coffee. “Huh. Guess I should’ve paid more attention to that.”

Together, Bucky and Natasha explain to him what is going on. Natasha tells him about her plan to get Steve back, and Dugan tells them he hasn’t been to SHIELD since getting word from a guy called Fury, saying he should lay low and wait for whatever came next. Bucky exchanged a look with Romanoff. Apparently, they were _next_.

After they are all on the same page, Natasha asks Dum Dum about weapons, and he beckons her to follow him somewhere inside the house. Bucky stays where he is. This is Natasha’s department. Plus, he doesn’t really like guns, to begin with, so he takes a seat and twiddles his fingers while he waits.

Dum Dum comes back alone sometime later.

“Just giving her some privacy with them,” he announces.

Bucky assumes _them_ is the weaponry, and decides not to ask anything. He watches as Dum Dum takes the armchair by the side of the couch he is in. Dugan looks like he aged a couple of years since the last time Bucky’s seen him, and the sight is like an invisible hand squeezing at Bucky’s heart. Dum Dum should be enjoying retirement, not plotting to take down an evil organization.

The concern must be showing on his face because Dugan lifts a hirsute eyebrow and asks, “What’s got into you, kid?”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky blurts out before even realizing he is saying it. “I shouldn’t have distrusted you.” His eyes sting. “I’m so sorry, Dum Dum.”

“Oh, Bucky,” Dum Dum says, sounding as sad as Bucky feels. He gets up with just a little difficulty, and opens his arms. “Come here, boy.”

Sometimes Bucky wishes he was a stronger person, not just because of his left arm, but because he seems to always be in need of saving. Most times, he feels like he can’t stand alone on his own two feet without having someone there, just in case he might tumble and fall. When he was a kid he had his parents; then, when Bucky lost them, he would assign that role to anyone, in exchange for anything. But for most of his adult life -- if you can even call it that -- Dugan has been that person for him. However, Dum Dum didn’t so much as cuddled him as he tried to help Bucky gain some sort of independence. Bucky bites down hard on his bottom lip to stop its trembling. He stands on shaky legs. He has never been this in over his head before, and yet, for the first time he realizes, he _knows_ , he has a safety net. He won’t break if he falls, Dum Dum has shown him that, so Bucky bridges the gap between them, and allows himself to.

He is careful not to hold too tight, but he still buries his face on Dugan’s chest, although it does nothing to stifle his sobs. Dugan runs a warm hand up and down Bucky’s back, while the other helps support him on the base of his spine. “Let it out, son. I’m here. And I don’t blame you, you know that right?” Bucky shakes his head. “Well, I don’t. You were smart, protecting yourself.” His words are soothing, but they also make Bucky cry harder. Dum Dum’s hand comes up to grip Bucky’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you.”

Bucky puts some distance between them so that he can look him in the eyes. “Thank you,” he says softly. “For everything.”

Dugan clears his throat and tightens his grip on Bucky’s shoulder. “You know, I kinda had given up on being a father, way before I met you.” He offers Bucky a timid smile, absently adjusting the collar on Bucky’s shirt, and adds, “I’m glad I didn’t give up all the way.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Natasha says, and they both swiftly wipe their eyes before swiveling around to look at her. “But we have to go.”

Bucky turns to Dum Dum and gets a nod of approval.

“One more thing,” Romanoff adds with a smirk. If she has guns on her -- which she definitely does -- Bucky can’t see where. “We need a car.”

Dum Dum barks out a loud laugh. “Of course, you do. Come on then,” he winks at Bucky, “I’ll let you pick the plate.”

\---

Natasha parks the car on the street behind SHIELD. She kills the engine and turns to Bucky. “Okay, let’s go over this one more time.” Bucky nods vigorously. He thinks he has the whole plan imprinted in his mind already, but it doesn’t hurt to be safe. “You lure Rumlow away from the building --”

“Okay.”

“As far away as you can. You don’t have to worry about him, I’ll be watching. Once you’re ready, tuck your hair behind your ear and I’ll come to get him.”

Bucky frowns. “Are you sure he’s gonna come with us?”

“If he doesn’t want to risk bleeding out in the middle of the street, he will.” She is not joking. It should terrify Bucky, but given the circumstances, he is glad to have Natasha on his side.

He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. “So, we’re kidnapping a SHIELD agent.”

“We’re kidnapping a _Hydra_ agent,” Natasha corrects him.

And Bucky can’t help the nervous churn in his stomach. He runs his tongue over his chapped lips. Natasha is willing to commit murder. This might be another Thursday for her, but this isn’t Bucky’s life. “Are we sure he is, though?” Brock might just be another asshole.

“James, he fabricated evidence against you,” Natasha says. “Do you really want to put Steve’s life in danger on the off chance Rumlow might be innocent?” Bucky shakes his head. He doesn’t know what that says about him or his principals, but between Rumlow and Steve, there isn’t really any choice to be made. “Alright, then. Let’s go.”

\---

The mood around SHIELD is visibly tense. If Bucky hadn’t been on high alert, he might have thought people are simply going about their business like always, but since he _is_ paying attention, he notices most people are caring their weapons in plain sight. Natasha told him nobody really knows what is going on, but it’s clear the agents realize there is a division between them.

Bucky walks, with all the confidence he can muster, to the reception desk, and doesn’t waste time with pleasantries before saying, “I have to talk to Agent Rumlow.” The receptionist opens her mouth, but Bucky doesn’t give her enough of an opening to speak. “Tell him is Bucky Barnes and it’s urgent.”

Whatever he is doing, he is doing it right because the woman scurries off her post and runs off. Bucky just hopes she is running off to find Brock, and not to call security on the crazy guy at her desk.

While he waits, he tries not to betray his nervousness, keeping his hands in his pockets and his legs from bouncing. Bucky is in the middle of the breathing exercise his shrink taught him a million years ago, when he spots Rumlow, strutting straight to him.

“The hell do you want,” Rumlow asks, low and menacing. “I don’t have time to fuck you.”

Bucky bites the inside of his cheek. He tastes blood, but swallows it down along with the urge to punch Rumlow in the face. “I have something you want,” Bucky tells him, once he more or less manages his rage.

Rumlow sniggers. “What could I possibly want from you that I don’t already got?”

Bucky steps away from him, towards the door. “You see I -- I’ve been studying, like history and languages.” He takes another step back. He is speaking low enough that Rumlow has no alternative but to follow him to listen.

“The hell you on about?”

“You’d be surprised at the amount of German I’ve learned this week.” Rumlow frowns. Bucky smirks. “Especially the words _hail_ and--”

He doesn’t see the punch coming until it’s too late to dodge, and the impact throws Bucky off his feet. He crashes on the wall behind him, knocking his head on the hard surface. He has to blink the stars away from his eyes.

“Shut your damn mouth,” Rumlow barks, pointing a threatening finger at him.

Bucky glares up at him from where he is. He needs to get up and take this outside, where Natasha will have eyes on him. That’s easier said than done, though. He feels the coppery taste of blood from his split lip and his head hurts like hell, but he is still aware enough to notice people are staring at them. “You sure you can afford to make a scene right now, Brock?”

“Nothing to see here, folks,” Rumlow loudly announced to the entire lobby. And people must really fear him around here because they scatter like ants when you drop liquid soap on them at the sound of his voice. Rumlow’s attention returns to him, and he leans over Bucky to grab him by the front of his t-shirt and haul him to his feet. “You’re right, Bucky. Let’s go somewhere more private.”

Bucky tries to pull himself free, but Rumlow simply lets go of his t-shirt to hold him by his left arm. “Get off of me!”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Rumlow whispers wetly in his ear, “And I’ll take you to Rogers.”

All the fight runs out of him at the mention of Steve, and Bucky willingly goes along as Rumlow takes him further inside the building. Natasha will be mad that Bucky isn’t following the plan, sure, but this is what they wanted all along, for Rumlow to take them to Steve. This might even be better than what they had in mind. Maybe Natasha can follow them. By the time they reach the underground garage, Bucky is confident he can pull this off.

They stop in front of a black SUV, and Rumlow starts to search Bucky. “Do you have a phone on you?”

“No,” Bucky says, stepping away from him.

Rumlow stares at him. “Where is it?”

Bucky stares back. He keeps his head high, even if his heart feels like is going to beat out of his chest. “Where’s what?” he snaps. “You said you were gonna take me to Steve. Where is he? What did you do to him?”

For a long time, Rumlow doesn’t say anything. His eyes travel the whole length of Bucky's body. Bucky locks his jaw and tries not to squirm under the scrutiny. Brock steps closer, trapping Bucky between himself and the car. “You lied to me, Bucky,” he snarls. “You have the stuff I’m looking for.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky says. “Where. Is. Steve?”

Rumlow takes a step back, and Bucky releases the breath he’d been holding. “You know what? I’m done playing this fucking game.” He starts pacing in front of Bucky, like a predator. “One of you is telling me where it is.” He pauses right in front of Bucky, and shrugs. “I don’t care which.”

Before Bucky even realizes what is coming, Rumlow’s hand is on his neck. He pulls Bucky forward, there is no time to fight him off -- Bucky feels almost as if they were in slow motion -- and he can’t do anything as Rumlow slams his head back against the car.

Bucky barely feels the impact, because everything goes suddenly black.

\---

He comes to in the boot of a moving car. It takes him a few minutes to orient himself. When he does, instinct tells him to stand up, but all Bucky manages to do is knock his head on the door. He tries to bring a hand up to feel his head, and discovers he is actually handcuffed. Fucking Rumlow.

“Alright, Barnes,” he whispers, “don’t freak out.”

He closes his eyes and tries to think straight. Rumlow is taking him to Steve because they are the only people who have what he needs, and he is probably going to do something so that one of them talks. Bucky’s stomach churns, but he tries to stay positive. By now, Natasha must have already realized something has gone wrong with their plan. She’ll know Rumlow has Bucky. He swallows hard. She’ll know that but nothing else.

“Fuck,” he breathes out.

At least the drive doesn’t seem long, and soon the car is going down somewhere then stopping altogether.

Rumlow opens the door with one hand, while the other holds a gun pointed at Bucky. “Get out,” he barks.

Bucky keeps his mouth shut as he does what he is told. It won’t do him any favors to piss Brock off unnecessarily. They haven’t even reached Steve yet. So Bucky takes the opportunity to study his surroundings.

They are in a building. Apart from Rumlow’s SUV, the garage is empty. He guides Bucky to the elevator, which only seems to go up three floors, but their ride is even shorter than that, it seems, and Rumlow presses the button for the floor immediately over the underground garage. When the doors open, he takes a hold of Bucky’s arm and presses the gun to the base of Bucky’s skull before telling him where to go.

It’s a bank vault. They are inside a bank. Bucky wonders if people are going about their business upstairs, paying bills and asking for loans as a lunatic Nazi threatens to kill two men down here. It would have been better for Bucky and Steve if this place was still running, but from what he sees, it looks pretty much abandoned, and he is actually relieved no one else’s life is in danger now.

They make a turn, and then Rumlow is guiding him towards a big safe at the end of the corridor. The sight of the steel door makes Bucky break into a cold sweat. In spite of how much he told himself to keep quiet, he can no longer help it.

“Why are you doing this, Brock?” He asks, a little frantic. He tries to drag his feet, but Rumlow is stronger than him and it only makes Bucky stumble forward. “You’re working for Nazis! For fuck’s sakes, you’re gay!”

He gets hit on the shoulder with the but of the gun for his troubles, and again, has to fight for balance. “Say that again,” Rumlow threats, digging his finger painfully hard on Bucky’s arm, “and I’ll blow your brains right here.”

The door to the safe is not closed all the away, Bucky notices as they reach it. “Open it,” Rumlow says letting go of him.

Bucky does so with difficulty. His hands are badly shaking, and to top that he is also still in handcuffs. But in the end, he doesn’t have to pull it too far, and Rumlow tells him to stop once there is enough space for them to pass.

It’s dark inside. But the smell is what register first for Bucky. The safe smells like a porta-party, and he has to make an effort not to gag. Rumlow is still glued to his back, but he somehow manages to turn on the bright fluorescent lights, which hurt Bucky’s eyes for a second, but truth be told, he hardly feels it. All of his focus is on the man in front of him.

Steve.

His head is inside a black cloth bag, but Bucky recognizes him, nonetheless. And he can’t help the gasp that escapes him at the sight of him. Steve’s shirt is torn and dirty with dried blood, sweat and dust from the floor where he is chained to. He is barefoot, and some of his toes look broken. Bucky has no idea if he is conscious or not. His head is hanging low, almost touching his chest. At least Bucky can see he is breathing.

“What did you do to him?”

But Rumlow ignores him, and instead, he pushes Bucky aside and kicks Steve on the shin, before pulling the bag off his head.

Bucky did try bracing himself, but still, he is shocked by what he sees. Steve’s face is a myriad of bruises in various colors and shapes. His left eye is practically swallowed shut. He groans, but it takes another one of Brock’s kicks to wake him up. He blinks his right eye open, but it looks like he is having a hard time focussing on what he is seeing.

“Steve,” Bucky calls softly. He is pretty sure the fact he didn’t say _Grant_ doesn’t even register. They’ll have time for that discussion later. Hopefully.

Steve’s breath picks up at the sound, and after a moment, his eye finds Bucky. “-- _ucky_ .” He shakes his head minutely. “ _No_.”

“Alright,” Rumlow says, drawing the attention back to himself. He looks at Steve. “The information you have on Hydra.” However, he doesn’t wait for Steve to even open his mouth before kicking Bucky’s legs from under him, making him fall flat on his back, knocking all the air out of Bucky’s lungs. “Now!”

Steve screams something, but Bucky can barely hear him. All of his focus is on trying to breathe. He screws his eyes shut and does his best to inhale. However, that ends up being a huge mistake, Bucky only realizes when Rumlow’s foot connects with the base of his ribs.

He howls out in pain, doubling in on himself.

Bucky vaguely notices he’s also bitten his tongue, so he spits out blood and saliva before doing his best to roll away. He isn’t fast enough, though, and Rumlow hits him again, this time on his stomach.

“Please -- stop.” Steve’s voice sounds like it’s coming through the other end of a tunnel. And yet, Bucky’s fuzzy mind still register his desperation. He tries to get up. Rumlow punches him back down. “ _Take your fucking hands off him_!” Rumlow is enjoying this so much -- the sadist fuck -- that he is not even asking for the memory card anymore. Nevertheless, Steve tells him. “It’s on my laptop, it’s taped to the inside of the battery.”

“Bullshit! I’ve torn that thing apart when evidence got a hold of it.” Rumlow takes Bucky by the hair. It feels like he is going to rip it all clean off Bucky’s skull. “There’s nothing in there.” Bucky tries to hold himself upright to take some of the strain from the top of his head where Rumlow’s grip painfully pulls him upwards. He turns his scared face to Bucky. “Unless--” He brings Bucky’s face to an inch of his. “You’re tryna play smart, aren’t ya?” He barks out a laugh. “Should stick to what you know best,” Rumlow says, changing his holding, suddenly forcing Bucky down, “being on your knees.”

Bucky can’t help the small sigh of relief that escapes him when Rumlow’s fingers stop pulling at his hair. Every part of him hurts so bad, he doesn’t have it in him to feel humiliated right now. Honestly, Rumlow is a hypocrite Nazi and he can go fuck himself.

Bucky snorts. “Takes one, to--.” Rumlow sucker punches him on the mouth. Bucky spits bloody saliva on Rumlow’s general direction, it doesn’t land on him, but Bucky still counts his disgusted face as a win. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Steve moving, just out of Brock’s line of sight. This is their chance. Bucky has to keep Rumlow busy. “I’ll tell you -- where. Please.”

“Please what?” Rumlow grabs Bucky by the collar of his shirt. “Start talking before I break your teeth.”

Slowly, Bucky brings his handcuffed hands up, his right arm doing most of the work. “They’re hurting me,” he says, pleadingly. He lowers his eyes to his wrists. On instinct, Rumlow does the same.

Bucky headbutts him.

“Motherfucker!” Rumlow yelps, holding his bloody nose as he stumbles back in surprise, right onto Steve’s outstretched leg.

Rumlow trips, loses his balance, and his arms flail as he goes down on his back. Neither Bucky nor Steve waste time just watching him. Bucky throws his own weight on top of Brock, while Steve takes him by the neck on a chokehold.

Rumlow is strong, though, and well trained. He fights them back by elbowing Steve on the ribs, and kneeing Bucky on the kidneys. All of his blows connect with perfect precision, despite his struggling, and Bucky grits his teeth against the flaring pain. Steve only lets out the few grunts he can’t hold back, but he keeps mostly quiet as he tightens the pressure of his arm against Rumlow’s neck.

It feels like forever, but at some point, Rumlow’s movements finally start to gradually become more and more erratic as the lack of air begins to affect him. He desperately scratches at Steve’s arm, his nails leaving angry red lines on their wake. Bucky tries to rip his hands away but to no avail.

“Buck,” Steve says, “the gun.”

Bucky follows his line of sight and, sure enough, Brock’s weapon is lying a few feet from them, but Bucky would have to get off Rumlow to go fetch it. He looks back at Steve with wide eyes. “Do you want me to shoot him?” He could do that. Right now, he thinks he could do that. However, he is afraid that if he stands, they might lose their upper hand on Rumlow.

“No,” Steve says through gritted teeth. “Knock him out.”

At first, Bucky doesn’t understand. Steve already has him on a hold. A few more minutes and Rumlow will be out. Then he sees it. Steve’s bleeding arms are shaking, badly. God knows when was the last time he ate anything. He’s been locked up here for weeks. He is not going to be able to keep this for much longer. Rumlow starts to wiggle away from Steve. They don’t have a few more minutes to spare.

Bucky knees him in the groin, and dashes for the gun.

When he looks back, Rumlow is almost out of Steve’s grip.

Bucky holds the gun with both hands. He crawls over Rumlows.

“You fuckin--” Rumlow gasps.

But before he can finish the thought, Bucky whips him on the side of the head, and Rumlow’s unconscious body goes slack against Steve’s chest.

The sound of their heavy breaths fills the small room as they both watch Rumlow with distrust.

“Buck,” Steve calls quietly. Bucky looks at him to find fury in his eyes. “It’s him, isn’t it?” He glances at Bucky’s left arm. “ _B_ _rock_?”

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes out, not even questioning how Steve made the connection. Perhaps Rumlow told him, somewhere along the past two weeks, as a way to break Steve’s moral. Bucky wouldn’t put it past him.

“He told me,” Steve says, shaking his head. He glares at Rumlow’s body with open disgust. “Should’ve shot him.”

Bucky has nothing to say to that, so he keeps quiet.

A few seconds go by, then Steve tells Bucky to search Rumlow’s pockets for keys, and luckily he finds the ones that free both of them. After he releases Steve, they manhandle Rumlow into position and put the welded cuffs on his ankle.

Bucky hands Steve the gun, and watches as he places it on the waistband of his jeans. He only barely lifts his shirt, but it’s still enough for Bucky to peak at the bruises on his stomach. Steve catches him looking.

“We have to get out of here,” he says. “He’s not the only one who checks in on me.” Bucky helps him get on his feet, but still, he sways terribly once he stands. Steve offers him a lopsided grin. “It’s been a while.”

Bucky runs a shaky hand through his hair. “Fuck.” He never thought he would one day resent the fact Steve is built like a goddamn house -- this would be way easier if he were smaller -- but then again, Bucky also never thought his name was _Steve_ , and here they are anyway. The thing is, Bucky’s own legs feel a little wobbly as well, but he is not leaving here without Steve, even if they have to both crawl all the way out of this bank. He puts his right arm under Steve’s to help him stay upright, and together, they begin the slowest walk known to men. Neither of them with energy enough to do more than to slowly drag their feet forward.

They are almost at the elevator when it makes a sound. Steve draws Brock’s gun up, his arm perfectly steady even though the rest of him isn’t. He deftly pulls the safety off, just as the elevator doors open to reveal its occupant.

Natasha also has a gun pointed at them.

“Nat?” Steve breathes out, lowering his arm.

Bucky’s knees were _not_ meant for this much stress, and they threaten to give up, and bring both Steve and him down at any moment. He leans on the nearest wall for support. “Thanks fuck!” He lets his eyes ask her the question. _How did she find him?_

“Dugan put a tracker on the collar of your shirt,” Natasha explains, then she frowns at them. “What happened?”

She starts to get off the elevator, but Bucky tells her to just stay inside and keep the doors open. They are close. He takes in a deep breath and resumes their walk.

“I’ll tell you on the way,” he says. Now that his adrenaline is going down he is starting to feel like his body has been through a meat grinder, repeatedly. He can only imagine how Steve must be feeling. Bucky glances at him, and it looks like he is using all of his remaining energy to get to Natasha.

By the time they step inside the elevator, they are both panting, and Natasha changes the gun on her hand for a cell phone. She catches Bucky’s eyes and explains, “I’m calling your friends. It’s time.”

\---

Steve’s knees give up on him when they reach the street. However, at this point, the ambulance is already on its way and they don’t have to wait for long. Bucky holds his hand all the way to the hospital. He lightly runs his thumb over Steve’s knuckles, but even that makes him hiss, so Bucky stops. Steve seems to be fighting to stay awake. Bucky smiles at him, and gives his fingers a light squeeze. It’s a promise. Steve can let go now, Bucky will be there when he wakes. And just like that, Steve’s whole body relaxes, he closes his one good eye and is out like a light.

However, they are immediately separated when they get to the hospital. Bucky doesn’t see where the nurses take Steve, but he is relieved Natasha called ahead to explain the situation and a bunch of police officers follows Steve’s gurney.

Bucky also has his own protection detail. He is not sure how he is supposed to feel about it, though. Part of him is grateful someone is there to protect him, but mostly, it makes him uneasy that he even needs to be guarded by men with huge ass weapons.

At least they stay outside when Bucky is finally put in a private room, after about an hour of examination and answering question, and being told that despite the bruises and cuts he is otherwise okay; nothing is broken. Then he spends another few minutes bullying a very nice nurse into giving him news of Steve. Like Bucky, he doesn’t have any broken bones, but he is dehydrated and malnourished.

Bucky thanks the nurse with a tired smile before asking her if he could have some time alone to rest. The door has not even closed all the way when he feels the tears coming down his face. He is not desperate. This is relief. Bucky stares at the ceiling and cries in silence until he falls asleep.

\---

He wakes up to find Kate and Clint on the sofa beside his bed. Kate has her head on Clint’s shoulder, while Barton’s head is thrown back on what looks like the most uncomfortable position, but at least this way he is not drooling all over Kate’s hair.

“They wouldn’t leave you,” Dum Dum’s says in a low voice.

Bucky turns to find him in the armchair on his other side. “How long have you guys been here?” His voice comes out raspy, and his throat feels like sandpaper, so he grabs himself some water from the just on the bedside table.

“Some time.” Dum Dum studies him for a moment before asking. “How are you doing, kid?”

In response, Bucky offers him a small grin. “You know, I’m gonna be thirty in a few months.” He lies on his side, and his body protests a little. The painkillers he was given must be wearing off. “Not exactly a kid.”

“Well, and I am not stupid,” Dugan shoots back, “yet you keep calling me _Dum Dum_.”

“And I’m never gonna stop.”

Dugan gestures at him. “Because you’re a kid.”

Bucky’s ribs do _not_ take his laughing well. He grimaces, but declines Dugan’s offer to call a nurse. He is fine, he assures, tired as all hell, even though he just slept for what seems like hours, but he is okay. Bucky is resilient, Dum Dum helped him see that.

“How’s everything?” Bucky asks.

Dum Dum huffs. “What do you think?” His eyebrows go almost all the way up to his hairline. “It’s a huge mess. _Someone_ ,” he pointedly looks behind Bucky’s shoulder, “just dumped on the internet a bunch of files explaining in excruciating detail how a Nazi cell has infiltrated a government agency for _years_. SHIELD is--” he shakes his head, “half of it might be gone by morning. My dear friend, Peggy, must be rolling in her grave now.”

“‘M sorry.” Bucky bites the inside of his cheek. SHIELD has been Dugan’s life for so long, he gave up so much for it. He doesn’t deserve all this shit, even if Bucky doesn’t regret what they did, he does hate the fact that his friend’s life’s work is going to be scrutinized for all it’s worth.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dum Dum admonishes him. “If it wasn’t for you and that stubborn boyfriend of yours, God knows what might have happened to this country.” He snorts. “You know, someone on the internet called him Captain America.” He rolls his eyes. “And now it’s everywhere! It’s ridiculous, he is not even in the army!”

Bucky chuckles, very softly to not upset his body.

“Do you know how he’s doing?”

“Last I heard he was still asleep,” Dum Dum tells him. “Ms. Romanoff is with him, there is no need to worry about his safety.”

“And what about Rumlow?” On top of everything else he must have done for Hydra, he also kidnapped someone, and tried to kill two people. Surely, he is going to jail for a long time. Bucky will gladly testify against him, any time. He is surprised police hasn’t come yet to take his statement. Perhaps they came while he was still asleep.

Dum Dum gives him a strange look. “Unfortunately,” he straightens his spine as he speaks, “Agent Rumlow was shot and killed in his attempt to run from the officers that came to arrest him.”

Bucky’s mouth falls open. He stares at Dugan, not really knowing what he is supposed to do with this information, or even, how he is supposed to react. In his mind’s eye, he can almost see what happened.

Natasha didn’t call the police after she found Bucky and Steve. She called an ambulance, and then she sent someone a text.

Bucky watches his friend. Dugan would never have another person do his work for him, especially not when it would mean leaving a loose end. Given his line of work, this is probably not the first time he’s taken a life. It’s the first time Bucky actively knows about it, though. He wonders if he should feel something.

He bites his bottom lip. He doesn’t want to ask the question, but he feels like he has to. His voice is barely audible when he does. “Was it because of me?”

Dum Dum heaves himself up with a sigh. “Don’t know what you're talking about,” he says dismissively, as he brushes invisible lint off his suit. “It’s a pity, Mr. Rumlow was so prone to violence.” Bucky frowns at him, but he ignores it. “Did you know he would occasionally hire male escorts, but instead of paying them, at the end of the night he would hit them and threaten to kill the poor sod if he ever breathed a word about Mr. Rumlow to anyone? Did you also know he was once in a car accident with a teenage boy--” Bucky’s breath hitches. “And that he grabbed a hold of the wheel and swerved so that the driver would be hit instead of him?”

“How d--”

Dum Dum approaches the bed. He buttons his jacket and then reaches out to pet Bucky on the knee. “People on withdrawal sometimes talk when they are barely even conscious.” He shakes his head. “Like I said, it’s a pity. For all of his misdeeds, Rumlow will be stripped of any meddle he’s won.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Bucky confesses. A part of him feels he should be thanking Dugan, but it is clear they are pretending this is all some sad string of things that just happen, and which Bucky has no part in it. Bucky thinks about it for a moment. He takes in a big breath as he comes to a conclusion. His entire body hurts like fuck, his hands though, they have never been steadier. “That’s all really sad, Dum Dum.” He purses his lips, and cocks his head to the side. “Was this guy a friend of yours?”

\---

Bucky is discharged before he gets the chance to see Steve. Things are a bit crazy at the hospital and security has to work extra hard now that they are guarding Captain America. Bucky goes online for thirty minutes and discovers the nickname is just as popular as Dum Dum had suggested. Besides that, Steve’s entire life seems to have become public knowledge overnight. He is going to hate that when he finds out. And Bucky wonders if he should have asked Clint and Kate to not include Steve’s name when they dump his research on the internet. He did conduct an unauthorized investigation, according to Dum Dum. But, if it wasn’t for Steve SHIELD would be doing Hydra’s work for who knows how long more.

Bucky skims a few articles and finds that a bunch of people has already been arrested, including a guy at the very top of SHIELD. Bucky remembers Dum Dum mentioning Alexander Pierce sometimes, and he always did seem like a real asshole. Also, Steve and Natasha’s boss resurfaced, and if the news outlets are anything to be believed, he is pissed at all hell, and has personally vowed to hunt down each and every remaining Hydra sleeper agent.  Bucky’s never met Nick Fury, but he already likes the guy.

When he is ready to go, Dum Dum has his driver take Bucky and Kate home. Clint stays behind, claiming that Natasha might need help fending off journalists or something. Kate rolls her eyes at him.

Once at home, Bucky takes a long shower before parking himself on the couch and half doze, half watch whatever crap is playing on TV.

Kate drops down next to him.

“Wanna order something to eat?”

“Not really hungry,” Bucky says, “but go ahead if you are.” Kate draws her legs up and hugs her knees. Instead of answering Bucky, she chooses to stare at him. “You’re creeping me out, Bishop,” Bucky tells her, without taking his eyes off the television. When Kate still doesn’t say anything, he sighs and finally turns to look at her.

Her eyes are shiny.

“Kate?”

And with that, she crumbles. “Fuck, Bucky,” she sobs. Bucky comes forward and hugs her. “I thought you were gonna _die._ ”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky mumbles, rubbing circles on her back. She puts some space between them so she pushes at his shoulder. “Ow.”

Kate cleans her face with the back of her hand. “Oh, did it hurt? Good! That’s what you get when you go off to fight Nazis on your own.”

“I didn’t run off!” Bucky protests.

“You didn’t follow Natasha’s plan,” Kate says angrily. She is not having any of his bullshit. “You were supposed to be in her sight.”

“Yeah, I know. But things changed. I saw an opportunity, and I took it.”

“An opportunity to what? Die?” Bucky huffs. She is being dramatic, he is about to tell her this, but she speaks first. “You and Clint, you’re my family. I don’t want to lose you guys. So, _please_ , don’t do shit like that again.”

Bucky opens his mouth, then closes it again and pulls her back into the hug. “I love you too.”

Kate sniffles against his neck, and Bucky tightens his hold. “Love you too, you ass,” she mumbles. They broke apart and pretend they don’t see each other swiftly wiping their eyes. They exchange a look. Kate snorts. Bucky chuckles. What a couple of idiots! She nudges her shoulder onto his, and he playfully pushes back. They are about to turn into two five-year-olds when someone knocks at the door. Kate jumps off the couch. “Barton forgot his keys again,” she says as she opens the door.

However, judging by the way she staggers back in surprise, Bucky can’t tell it is not Clint on the other side.

“Oh.” Kate looks from the newcomer to Bucky and then back again. “Uh.”

“Can I come in?”

Bucky instantly recognizes the voice.

Steve.

Kate seems unsure for another second, before finally stepping aside to let him in. He is dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie that is not doing a good job at hiding the myriad of bruises on his face, even though he’s pulled the hood over his head. At least the swollen on his eye has gone down enough Steve can actually open it.

“I, uh, I’m gonna go hang out in my room,” Kate announces to no one in particular. Then she closes the door and bolts out of the living room.

Once they are alone, Bucky’s attention turns to Steve, who doesn’t seem to have a follow up for his plan and just holds Bucky’s gaze without saying anything for a long time, forcing Bucky into being the first to break the silence.

“Hi.”

“Hey, Buck.”

“How are you feeling?” Bucky asks not only because he cares about Steve, but also, now that they are here and there is nothing between them, he doesn’t really know what else to say.

“I -- uh,” Steve stammers, before giving up on whatever he was about to say. Instead, what comes out of his mouth is: “Kind of ran away from the hospital.” He scratches at the back of his head. Bucky stares at him. That’s not even close to what he asked. “Natasha and, and your friend, Clint, helped me.”

“Are you okay, though?” Bucky tries again. Then he also remembers his manners, and scooches over to the side so that Steve will have space. “Come on, sit down.”

Steve hesitates a little, but ends up taking a seat, as far away from Bucky as can get, it seems. He looks as nervous as he was on the first time they slept together. If Bucky didn’t know any better, he’d say Steve is even avoiding looking at him. But that can’t be. Steve doesn’t run away from things.

“Say something,” Bucky presses lightly. “You’re worrying me here, Steve.” That does the trick of getting Steve’s eyes on him, but they are wide and kind of scared. Steve is definitely a shade paler than he was before Bucky said his name. _Fuck_. Bucky had completely forgotten about that. “That’s why you’re here, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes out. He straightens his spine like he is about to face the firing squad. “Buck,” he begins, solemn. Bucky nods, he is listening. “I lied to you.”

Although Steve is as serious as a funeral, Bucky can’t help the snort. “No shit.” Steve looks hurt at that, but that one is on him, and Bucky refuses to feel bad, even though he does.

“And I put you in danger,” Steve goes on, resting his hands on his knees, his blunt nails digging at the soft fabric of his pants. “I understand if you never want to see me again--”

 _Here we fucking go again_ , Bucky thinks. This is a part of the puzzle he hadn’t really noticed before. Steve Rogers is like, fifty percent drama. “Steve--”

“No, please,” he asks, “let me finish.” His eyes slide off Bucky for a moment, but Steve visibly forces himself to look back; to keep eye contact, even though he seems close to tears, and despite the fact he doesn’t like it when people see him cry, Steve is not a quitter; it’s something that even trumps his pride, Bucky thinks. He admires that in Steve, so he keeps his mouth shut and allows him to go on uninterrupted. “I was in the middle of the investigation when we met,” Steve explains, “I should’ve kept my distance. At first, I even thought that -- you -- maybe--” he stammers his way to silence, but Bucky knows what he means, so he nods to acknowledge it.  Bucky could have been Hydra. “But you weren’t. You’re… the best thing that's ever happened to me.” Steve smiles sadly. “I wanted you. I _want_ you. _God_ , Bucky how I do!”

Now Bucky’s eyes are also rapidly welling up. He wonders if he’ll stop crying any time soon.

Steve shakes his head. “But I fucked this whole thing up, didn’t I?” Before Bucky can answer, he continues, “I lied, I put you and your friends in danger. _Fuck_. You could’ve been _killed--_ ” his voice falters. Bucky blinks away a tear. Steve clears his throat. “I’ll leave. You’ll never have to see me again. I just -- I just had to apologize, and thank you.” He gives Bucky another one of those shy, heartbreaking smiles, that makes him either want to kiss Steve or punch him for being such a dramatic asshole.

“Are you done now?” Steve nods, miserable. “Okay, okay,” Bucky says. He exhales shakily. “First of all, yeah, it sucked that you lied about your name. Twice.” He raises a hand to wipe his face, but gives up halfway with a sigh -- it’s pointless, he can’t stop crying -- and lets his arm fall back to his lap. “But, you didn’t fuck up. On the contrary, I kinda think you saved the country.”  Steve makes a face, and Bucky realizes he is about to start spiraling, so he gets back on track. “You didn’t ask me to go after you. I did what I did because I love you, Stevie.” He smiles through his tears. By now, Steve is crying too. Bucky leans forward until they are nose to nose, sharing the same breath. “I love you,” he whispers against Steve’s lips before closing the small gap with a kiss.

Bucky is careful not to hurt Steve or himself. Once Steve unfreezes, and starts kissing him back, he brings his right hand up to rest on Steve’s nape, while his left blindly seeks Steve’s hands. Steve finds it first, and hold it within his.

When they break apart, Bucky opens his eyes to find Steve looking back at him apprehensively.  He squeezes Bucky’s hand one last time before letting it go. He sniffs. “This,” he mutters, his voice thick with emotion, “mean you forgive me?”

“No,” Bucky tells him quietly. Steve jerks away from him in surprise, but Bucky pulls him back by the neck. Steve comes willingly. “I understand you, Steve. There is nothing to forgive,” Bucky explains. He kisses Steve’s forehead, and is rewarded with a relieved sigh. Tension seeps from Steve’s muscles at last, and he visibly relaxes before Bucky.

“I hope you know,” Steve says, “how amazing you are.” He tentatively brings a hand up, only to stop midway, uncertain if he is allowed to. Bucky gives him the permission with a nod, and he closes the gap, cupping Bucky’s face. “And if you don’t, Steve says, running his thumb over the stubble on Bucky’s cheek, “I hope you let me show you.”

And, honestly, how can you expect Bucky to not kiss the guy for all he's worth when he says stuff like that while looking at him with baby blue eyes filled with unshed tears? Bucky is only human! So he dives back into Steve’s arms, to his keen mouth, to his strong arms, that are shaking a little, and Bucky does his best to pour everything he feels into the kiss.

He forgets himself, in between breaths, and he thinks Steve forgets it too because they are both letting their hands run free all over each other, and so Bucky is brought to a screeching halt when he touches something and Steve winces.

Bucky takes his hands off him. “Oh, shit! Sorry.”

“No,” Steve assures, “it’s okay.” But it clearly isn’t. Bucky takes a quick inventory. Steve is pale, despite the make out session. There is a thin layer of sweat covering his brow. And as much as Bucky would have liked to put the slight trembling down to his own seductive powers, or whatever, he knows best.

With a tired exhale, Bucky disentangles himself from Steve and gets up. “Come on,” he says, offering Steve a hand to stand as well. “We have to get you back to the hospital before you freak SHIELD out again.”

Steve actually _whines_.

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“I’m fine, Buck,” Steve protests. “Really.” But even as he speaks, he sways when he stands. And Bucky shoots him a pointed look. Steve’s shoulders sag in defeat. “I’m not fine, Buck.”

Bucky snorts, and gestures at him. “I can see that.”

But Steve doesn’t get in on the joke. Instead, he shakes his head miserably. “I don’t mean the obvious.” He takes a shaky breath and awkwardly hugs himself. “I thought I was gonna die, Buck. Before you showed up, I mean. I thought I would die down there. I know I was trained for situations like that, I should’ve been prepared, but--” _I was scared_. He doesn’t say it, but Bucky hears it anyway.

He can only imagine, what Steve must have gone through.

Tentatively, Bucky moves forward, telegraphing his moves, so that Steve understands what he means so that he can stop Bucky if he wants it. He doesn’t, so Bucky carefully hugs him. Steve left out a wet sigh against his neck when Bucky’s fingers massage at the base of his scalp.  He would like to tell Steve that it’s going to be okay, that he’ll forget those bad memories in no time. But just as he thinks this, Steve shudders against him, and Bucky has to squeeze his eyes shut.

“We’ll get help,” he promises vehemently. As much as Bucky loves him, he is perfectly aware that his love will not be enough to help Steve through his trauma. Sometimes you need professional help, and there is no shame in that. “Come on,” he urges, but Steve doesn’t seem ready to let go just yet. He tightens his grip on Bucky.

“I don’t know if I can go back to that house,” Steve confesses.

Bucky puts enough distance between them so that he can actually look at Steve without going cross-eyed,  without having to step out of the embrace. He studies Steve’s battered face. Those cuts and bruises are going to heal much faster than the damage done inside. Life has taught Bucky that much. It hurts his heart a little, to know Steve will have to go through this. “You don’t have to,” Bucky tells him. “You can stay here if you want.” He shrugs. “I mean, we’ll need a new bed. And the space is a _lot_ smaller than you’re used to.” Bucky can’t hear himself starting to ramble, but he can’t stop. He is asking Steve to move in with him, and it is only halfway through that he realizes how bad he wants this to happen, and now he is half afraid Steve will say no because Bucky is definitely rushing into this. He knows it. “We had a rat problem last year,” he blurts. “Kate killed it, but Clint refused to come home for a week. I have no idea where he slept--”

Steve has a smile on his face, it’s small but it’s there. It’s what makes Bucky finally shut his mouth. “Do you meaning it, about me living here? Do you think Kate and Clint will be okay with that?”

Bucky nods. “I’ll talk to them, but I know they will. They know how much you mean to me.” He bites his lower lip. “So?”

Unfortunately, that is the moment Steve’s exhausted mind decides it has had enough of this emotional rollercoaster, and he passes out just as he is about to give Bucky an answer.

\---

It’s a hell of a scare, but the doctor assures Bucky Steve will be alright. She congratulates Bucky for not letting Steve hit his head anywhere when on his way down. Truth be told, it was only by the skin of his teeth that Bucky managed to hold Steve when he tumbled; his left arm not being of much use. He doesn’t tell the doctor any of that, though. Bucky knows to quit while he is ahead.

He stays with Steve in the room, after winning an argument with one of the nurses who wanted to kick him out, but steps outside when Clint come to talk to him, so as not to disturb Steve’s sleep.

“Is he okay?” Clint asks quietly in the empty corridor.

Bucky looks at the closed door, then back at Clint. “He’s gonna be.”

Clint nods, serious, only to let his face morph into a huge grin a second later. “She asked me out. Natasha,” he adds excitedly, in case Bucky hadn’t picked on that. He has. Clint is beaming. “We’re having coffee tomorrow!”

“That’s great,” Bucky says with a smile. He would like to say he saw this coming, but truth be told, he had actually thought Clint had been setting himself up for a heartbreak. But apparently, in between helping find her friend and taking down her employers, Natasha had time to find herself a date. Bucky kind of envies her efficiency. He gets lost inside his head for a bit, and when he comes back to the present, Bucky finds Clint looking at him funny. “What?”

“She’s still staying with us,” he tells Bucky.

“Yeah, I kinda put that together.”

“Is it a problem?” Clint asks apprehensively.

Bucky shrugs. “Not for me,” he says. “Steve’s gonna live with us too.”

Clint huffs. “We’re gonna have to find someone for Kate.”

No sooner he says it, than Natasha materializes behind them, scaring the bejesus out of Bucky and Clint when she speaks.

“Hi, boys.”

They both turn to look at her, and find that she is not alone. Beside her, there is a guy with a worried frown as he stares at the closed door of Steve’s room. The concern on his face is a pretty good indicator of who he is. Nonetheless, Natasha makes the formal introductions.

“This is Sam Wilson,” she says, gesturing at Sam while he waves at them. “Steve’s friend. Sam, these are Clint and Bucky.”

Although he greets Clint as well, Sam’s eyes linger on Bucky. He stands a hand. “Nice to finally put a face to the name,” he comments as they shake hands. Bucky simply nods. He can’t really say the same, seeing as he only found out about Sam’s existence a few days ago. Sam juts his chin at the door. “He sleeping?” Bucky confirms. “Good,” Sam nods to himself. “That dumbass better be wide awake for when I tear him a new one.” Clint snorts at that. Bucky smirks. He likes Sam Wilson already.

When they all fall in silence, Clint speaks. “Hey, Sam! You should stay at ours while you’re here.” He gives Bucky a pointed look, though Bucky has no idea what that’s supposed to mean.

“You sure, man,” Sam asks, looking from one face to another.

Meanwhile, Barton keeps making weird faces at Bucky. “Yeah,” he says to Sam. “I mean, Steve and Nat,” and since when Natasha Romanoff has become _Nat_ , Bucky doesn’t know, “are already staying with us. What’s one more person, right, Bucky? I mean,” he shrugs, trying, and failing miserably in being nonchalant. “It’s kinda cool actually, that way we’ll be six, it’d be like everyone has their pair or something.”

 _Oh_ , Bucky gets it now. Kate.

And judging by Natasha’s face, they are all on the same page here. She grabs his hand and starts leading him away. “He’s right,” she tells Sam. Then to Clint. “Come one, help me take his things back to the apartment.”

Bucky and Sam watch as they disappear down the corridor, and then Bucky finds himself alone with Steve’s best friend. He turns to Sam, offering him a little awkward smile, which Sam returns with a much more casual grin. He takes a seat on one of the plastic chairs next to the door, and Bucky, not knowing what to do, follows his lead, sitting next to him.

“So,” Sam starts, looking at Bucky with an open expression. “Is everything alright between you two? If you don’t mind me asking,” he adds.

Bucky shakes his head. “No, it’s alright. You can ask.” He bites his lips, and looks down at his hands, as he thinks of an answer. “You knew he was lying to me,” Bucky says at last. He is careful not to put any judgment in his voice. Sam seems like a nice guy, and he is definitely not to blame for any of the stuff that happened.

“Yeah,” Sam drawls. “If it’s any consolation I did tell him it was a stupid idea, which would definitely blow up in his face eventually.” Bucky glances at him and finds that he is smirking. “But he is a stubborn asshole, isn’t he?’ Bucky snorts and Sam barks out a laugh. When they sober up a little, he goes on. “He’s also never been happier,” he says seriously. “All this shit with SHIELD and Hydra aside. I’ve never seen him like that before. You should see the look on his face when he talks about you. I really hope you can see past the stupidity, Bucky.” He smiles sadly. “Steve is a hell of a special guy.”

“I know,” Bucky says softly. “I love him.”

Sam nods. “That’s good to hear, man.”

Bucky has no idea how long Sam knows Steve for, but, by the way, he talks about him, Bucky can see that Sam has been a part of Steve’s life for a long time. He probably knows Steve better than anyone else, so Bucky is sure he’s been privy to everything Steve has been through seen he was a kid. And if he is happy that Bucky loves Steve, if he trusts Bucky with his best friend’s heart like that, well, Bucky is going to try his damn hardest not to let Sam Wilson down.

\---

“No… I’m sorry, but like I said--” Steve huffs impatiently for what seems like the umpteenth time since answering the call, as the person the other side probably interrupts him yet again.  Bucky’s eyes follow him as he paces back and forth behind the sofa. “I’m sorry,” Steve says again, “but as I’ve been trying to tell you I have no interest in talking to the press.”

Bucky tries to offer him a hopeful smile. Steve has been having variations of this same conversation for the past month, ever since he got home from the hospital. And every time he has to try and explain the same thing over and over as the reporters seem to simply refuse to take no for an answer. Steve stops his pacing to hit Bucky with the full force of the puppy dog eyes.

Just hang up, Bucky mouths.

But Steve simple shakes his head. Of course, he can’t do that. His moral compass would never allow him this act of disgrace against politeness. For a guy who has no qualms when it comes to doing what he thinks is right, Steve has got some serious hangs.

“But that’s the thing, I didn’t post those.” Silence. “No, I was working alone… I can’t tell you that,” Steve tells the person, though his eyes don’t leave Bucky. Clint, Kate, Natasha. Steve would answer these forty-minute calls for the rest of his life if it means never getting their friends involved in this. “Well, I’m afraid I won’t be changing my mind…Ok, goodbye.”

Bucky stretches. “Holy shit, I thought I’d grow old in this couch. Instead of taking part in the joke, Steve simply sighs, letting his head hang. “Hey,” Bucky calls softly. Steve looks at him. “Who was it this time, CNN?”

“No, the Times,” Steve says,  displeased. “I didn’t do this to be famous, Buck.”

“I know,” Bucky says. He knew this would be hell for Steve from the moment Dum Dum told him about the nickname the internet had given Steve. It has probably never been part of Steve’s plan, to turn his research into something so public, which makes Bucky wonder. “What were you gonna do?”

Steve’s shoulders drop. “Honestly, I didn’t even know.” He shrugs. “Guess that’s part of why I told you were to find the card. I had no idea what to do with that, or who I could tell. Then I got home that day and I was jumped. Somebody sprayed something on my face and it knocked me out. The rest you know.”

Bucky nods. Steve doesn’t usually talk about this so Bucky doesn’t try to press him. Steve will open up on his own time. So instead, Bucky focus on something else he has been curious about. “Hey, you never told me what led you to go sniff out Nazis at work.”

“I kept being sent off this weird mission,” Steve says. “Something was off.”

“And you’re a stubborn ass who just couldn’t leave it well enough alone,” Bucky teases. And this time he manages to get a laugh out of Steve, who bends down to card his fingers through Bucky’s hair and give him a quick peck on the lips.

“You know me,” Steve tells him softly.

Bucky smiles up at him. “You damn right I do.”

\---

Steve’s ragged breaths gradually pull Bucky from sleep. He blinks the remains of his dream away as he tries to focus on what is in front of him.

He is on his side, turned towards Steve, just like he had been when he fell asleep, with a hand under the pillow, and the other stretched out between them, Steve hasn’t moved much either, curled in on himself, facing Bucky.

Steve doesn’t really toss and turn, but he is shaking a little, and despite the dark, the little light that comes from the window is enough for Bucky to see the sweat on Steve’s brow.

Bucky frowns, displeased with his impotence faced with Steve’s nightmares. He runs his fingers through Steve’s damp hair, combing it away from his face. “Stevie, wake up,” Bucky calls, quietly but urgently. Steve makes a noise of distress on the back of his throat, and though his eyelids flutter, his eyes don’t open. He is still trapped in the nightmare. Bucky moves his hand to his shoulder then, and gives him a firm shake. “Steve!”

Steve’s eyes fly open, wide and scared. For a moment, he stares blankly at Bucky without really seeing him. His entire body taut with tension. Bucky holds his breath and waits. The minutes stretch before them until awareness finally flickers on Steve’s eyes. He blinks, confused.

“Buck?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, running his hand back and forth Steve’s arm. “You’re home, it’s alright. You’re safe,” he reassures, and Steve goes slack under his palm. Bucky waits a moment, then he asks, “You okay?”

Steve nods, even though it’s clear he isn’t all there yet.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

But Steve just shakes his head. “I don’t really remember,” he lies. They both know better, but Bucky doesn’t press. Steve has already been seeing a therapist for some time now; that is, after months of Bucky and Sam, and Natasha, and pretty much all of their friend, including Dugan, insisting that he did so, so at least he is making some progress. Moreover, Sam has explained to Bucky about PTSD, and that it would take a while for Steve to work through his trauma.

All that is left for Bucky is to be there when Steve needs him. Although he has also learned to give him space when necessary. It’s a shaky road, but at least Steve doesn’t shut him out completely, and they get to travel it together.

Steve sits up, resting his head against the headboard. Bucky does the same. He lets his eyes wander the bedroom to give Steve some privacy to compose himself.

All around them, there are traces of their life together, but most importantly, traces of _Steve_. The house SHIELD had put him in had no personal touch apart from the photo of his mom, which now sits on their nightstand. But now, all Bucky has to do is look around and there he is. The walls are covered with his drawings, and though it’s too dark to see properly, Bucky’s gaze can still find his favorite one. The Phoenix rests right in the middle of the wall, in front of their bed. It’s surrounded by a bunch of other works, which are all amazing, but none of them draws Bucky’s attention like the one Steve made to show Bucky how he sees him.

“I can draw another one if you’d like,” Steve offers after a few minutes of silence. Bucky glances at him to find his gaze on the drawing as well. Sometimes it still surprises him, how well Steve can read him, even in the dark. “In larger scale, better paper.”

Bucky shakes his head. He searches for Steve’s hand between them, and laces their fingers together. “It’s perfect like this,” he says softly not to disturb the quiet night. Beyond their bedroom, the apartment is silent. Natasha and Clint are probably asleep by now, and Sam and Kate perhaps not home yet.

Steve squeezes Bucky’s hand to get his attention. “Sorry I woke you,” he says when Bucky looks at him.

“It’s okay,” Bucky tells him sincerely, “We’re not working tomorrow anyway.” Dum Dum’s friendship with Howard Stark had apparently been much stronger than Bucky had assumed, if he managed to get the six people living in this house -- three of which with only a high school diploma -- jobs at Stark industries. It still baffles Bucky a little, but then again, he’s also heard Tony Stark himself saying once that he’d been _dying to meet Captain America_ , so there is also that.

Steve is happy, even if he constantly bitches and moans about Stark when they get home. At last, he knows now exactly who he is working for, and he can put that big brain of his to good use, instead of just being a handy set of muscles.

Bucky sure is glad to be working again, after such a long time, especially in a place as great as Stark Tower. Also, it doesn’t hurt that he has everyone he cares about only a few floors away. After everything that’s happened to them, Bucky figures he can afford to be a little paranoid sometimes.

“We should do something this weekend,” Steve suggests. The nightmare was probably not so bad if he is already trying to rile Bucky up. And, in spite of the lack of light, Bucky is pretty sure Steve can still feel his the force of his glare on him. Steve huffs. Good that he is having fun with this, Bucky thinks, just as Steve brings their joined hands up to his lips to plant a kiss on the back of Bucky’s. “I won’t leave your side this time. Promise.”

Bucky sighs as he rests his head on Steve’s shoulder. His eyelids starting to feel heavy, sleep quickly catching up with him. “Where we going?” He asks through a yawn, closing his eyes.

Instead of answering, Steve kisses the top of his head.

“We can decide in the morning,” he says, quietly against Bucky’s hair.

Bucky hums his agreement, too far gone by now to actually speak. He can’t tell if Steve means it or not, but right now he couldn’t care less. He sinks down onto the bed, bringing Steve with him so he can keep resting his head on Steve’s chest.

He thinks Steve says something, but he doesn’t quite catch it, so Bucky grunts what he hopes comes as a question.

“I said thank you for saving me,” Steve whispers.

Bucky smiles at him as he falls back asleep. He knows Steve doesn’t mean from the nightmare alone. Steve is always saying that. According to him, Bucky has saved him from lots of things so far, including lying to himself, a life he’d been trapped in, and an actual homicidal maniac, to name a few. Whenever Steve says it, Bucky simply smiles. The truth is, he doesn’t really feel like revealing his secret, which is that he can easily spot the pieces of the puzzle that don’t belong.

Now he has the full picture.


End file.
